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WHERE THE 


TIDES MEET 


BY 

EDWARD PAYSON BERRY 


AUTHOR OF “ LEAH OF JERUSALEM," ETC., ETC. 



ARENA PUBLISHING COMPANY 

COPLEY SQUARE 

I893 


.'ft 4- 5 1 “V W 


Copyrighted 1893 
by 

EDWARD PAYSON BERRY 
All rights reserved 


Arena Press 


\ 

I 


TO 


MY HIGHLY ESTEEMED FRIEND 

MARCUS T. BALDWIN. 






• .... .. . ' , 









CONTENTS 


Chapter. page. 

I. Shadow and Bags i 

II. Light and Dark 8 

III. Mr. Silas Slack 

IV. Mr. Slack is Strictly Honest 32 

V. The Side Pocket 40 

YI. Below Stairs 51 

VII. Above Stairs 60 

VIII. The Girl with the Baby, the Man with the Monkey, the 

Lawyer with Visor 65 

IX. The Crowded Ones 75 

X. A Mad Client 78 

XI. How Mag can become Madame 86 

XII. How a Cuff-Button can become a Breast-Pin 93 

XIII. Mr. Slack’s Suspicions 98 

XIV. Victim or Victor 104 

XV. Debtor and Creditor 113 

XVI. Guesswork • 12 & 

XVII. The Tangled Web 138 

XVIII. Father and Daughter 148 

XIX. “ I will be Revenged ” 155 

XX. “ I feels it ” 166 

XXI. A Short Call from Philip Maitland * * * * 174 

XXII. A Tenement Guess on Broadway 180 

XXIII. Partners and Partners 186 

XXIV. Joe Collins 195 

XXV. Mammy’s Feelings are Prophecies 296 

XXVI. Molly Humstone’s Eyes do not Deceive Her 215 

XXVII. Everything is that high for Mammy 221 

XXVIII. An Undecided Decision 226 


iv WHERE THE TIDES MEET 

Chapter. Page. 

XXIX. At the Mission * 231 

XXX. A Woman’s Love 238 

XXXI. Mr. Slack’s Day Arrives 248 

XXXII. Murder Will Out 261 

XXXIII. Mrs. Applegate is Nervous 273 

XXXIY. Mr. Sargeant on the Scent 279 

XXXV. Joe Moreland 295 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER 

SHADOW AND BAGS. 

In these present days, which is a date exact enough not to 
be too vague, and sufficiently vague not to be too personal, 
on a blustering November night and between the hours 
of twelve and one, a boat impelled by oars was cautiously 
stealing away from New York upon the black and sullen 
waters of the East River. Having accurate knowledge of 
the appearance of this gliding craft and the character of its 
lading, this history ventures to draw aside the cloaking 
darkness and permit all who desire it a brief view of 
them. 

The boat itself was very miserable and dirty and only less 
green and disreputable than the water-soaked and slippery 
piles along which it was proceeding, and which had divided 
the dark tide for so many years. The equipment of the 
boat consisted of one extra oar, a coil of rope, a stout boat- 
hook, two long augers for robbing valuably laden docks 
from beneath, and a rusty crow-bar. Its two rotting seats 
were occupied by two men. He in the stern was possessed 
of iron strength. His length of frame was uncommon, his 
back was broad, his limbs thick and brawny. The four re- 
pulsive canines of which time and debauchery and drunken 
brawls had not yet deprived him, by their length and ugli- 
ness suggested the fangs of some fierce wild beast. His 
countenance was cruel and lowering ; his eyes steely and 


2 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


threatening ; his nose hooked like a vulture’s beak ; the 
hair which covered his low brow, sparse and bristled. 

The companion of this ruffian, who sat at the oars and 
propelled the boat as directly and noiselessly as the rush- 
ing tide would permit, was endowed with a short, thick- 
set frame, which, in conjunction with a broad, flat nose, 
with a closely cropped bullet head, and with a wide, ugly 
mouth, drooping savagely at the corners, gave him the 
appearance of a surly bull-dog ever ready to do battle. 
He addressed the man at the stern as “Shadow,” and 
himself answered to the less euphonious name of “Bags”; 
well-known designations among the tenement and cheap 
lodging-house criminals of “ down-town,” and bestowed 
by admiring associates as honorary titles, the significance 
of which was sufficiently patent to any unfortunate whose 
evil fate it was to be “ shadowed ” by the one or have his 
valuables “bagged” by the other. Frequently spoken 
names were they, too, among the rising generation of 
vagabonds, still in the swathing-bands of pickpockethood, 
turned out in droves by the fetid and festering conditions 
of life in certain precincts well-known at headquarters. 

Between these two objects of youthful emulation, on 
the slimy bottom of the boat and covered with a piece of 
sail-cloth, was a shape which might have been a shape of 
almost anything. It might have been a sail rolled into a 
bundle ; it might have been a fisherman’s net ; it might 
have been even a man. Indeed, there seemed not a little 
likelihood that the form was that of a man. For the figure 
in the boat’s stern would scarcely have been holding a 
loaded revolver hard down upon the cloth and saying in 
a stealthy voice: “ D’yer feel that? One move and 
ye’re a cooked ’un ! ” had the bundle been nothing more 
liable to give trouble than canvas or net. 

Perhaps the strangest feature in connection with these 
two voyagers, as their craft crept silently along like some 
slow-moving monster of the night, was the fact that they 
were both clad in the blue garb and helmet hat of the met- 
ropolitan police. Strange fact, indeed ! If they were in 


SHADOW AND BAGS. 


3 


very truth the guardians of the public weal, why did they 
steal so cautiously along as if fearful lest they should be 
overheard? Why that dilapidated and oddly appointed 
boat ? Why those fierce countenances ? Why that re- 
volver pressed against the mysterious bundle ? Why the 
following muttered conversation ? 

‘ ‘ Mind y erself, Bags, ” said the man in the stern. ‘ ‘ Keep 
yer eye on the tide, or yer’ll be smashin’ one of the oars 
agin the pier. ” 

“It ain’t the pier as bothers me,” replied Bags, in a low 
growl. “I kin manage the pier, and if I couldn’t I’d be a 
blasted fool after all these years. You hain’t follered the 
water as long as I have. What bothers me is the skittish 
natur’ of the load. If you’d ’a took my advice we’d have 
croaked him before we left the hole. What’s more, you 
would ’a done it if it hadn’t been fur that old pigeon- 
livered lawyer. Hanged old pen-scratcher didn’t have the 
pluck to finish the game he’d set afoot ! I say we’d ought 
to have croaked him nigh enough to have spiled him from 
giving us trouble, leastwise.” 

“Never yer mind about that croakin’,” replied Shadow 
in a muffled voice, developed by a habit of crime, “never 
yer mind about that. Don’t yer know that there stuff 
what the old feller stuck under his nose ’ll keep him 
hushed as good as if he war dead? No, sir ; I hain’t been 
named Shadow because I war a skeer-crow ; but I tell 
you, Bags, it’s better to be nabbed with a live ’un than 
with a dead ’un any day or night either. Stiffs is suspi- 
cious at all times, wery. Them blarmed water-cops is most 
uncommon eary, and the safe side is the best side every 
time. Still as he’s fixed I ain’t countin’ on no great 
danger. ” 

“How fur are we goin’ to ride him, anyhow, pal? 
Reckon as there hain’t much need of rowin’ him much 
furder. He’ll sound the deep of the water in a couple of 
shakes with that half-yard of sidewalk stickin’ to him. I 
allow as he won’t be picked up to-morrer where the 
tides meet. Where he’s dropped there he’ll lay.” 


4 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Don’t yer be too easy-goin’ now, Bags. The old 
hunter and his hounds ’ll smell a stiff if it ain’t nigh 
on a hundred fathoms deep. There’s no tellin’ what kin 
happen, and we’re arter the safe side. The ropes might 
slip and up he’d come, and then the first thing we 
know’d we’d be wanted. Blast it all, a man’s life ain’t 
hardly worth the livin’ these days. Times have changed, 
pardner, times have changed, and not fur the better. In 
the old days, afore we war in it, like as when the old 
Leather-heads war around, a man could ’a done a 
little job without havin’ to think of it half his life afore- 
hand and all his life arterward. I say it’s hardly worth 
the livin’. ” 

“ I’ll be hung by the neck until I do be dead, if you 
hain’t about got it straight,” growled Bags, pulling rapidly 
at the oars, as if anxious to be rid of his charge. “ I’ve 
been at it all my days, and times has grow’d worse and 
worse. And knowin’ just how it is, when I call to mind 
that we’re only gettin’ five hundred a head fur this trip, 
I’m dead mad. I tell you it war too dangerous to be 
undertook fur a thousand. A first-class murder ought to 
come higher. It ain’t fair to the profesh to do it so dog- 
gone cheap. And come to think of it, Shadow, why can’t 
we make it come higher ? What do you say to the old 
chap bein’ in our hands ? ” 

“What do I say?” repeated Shadow. “I say ye’re a 
fool fur thinkin’ it. Why, a man would say yer were a 
greeny at the business. Yer’d ought to know that we’re 
in the thing as deep as the adwocate. Do yer suppose 
he hadn’t thought all that out aforehand ? Well, I reckon ! ” 

“You reckon, do you?” muttered Bags, not relishing 
the reproof that his companion had let fall. “ A man 
might think you’d been at the trade a sight longer than me 
to hear you shoot off your mouth. What do you know 
about adwocates, I’d like to know ! The less you have 
to do with the law the better for you. All I’ve got to say 
is that them law-fellers is always gettin’ ahead of some- 
body, and I don’t like ’em.” 


SHADOW AND BAGS. 


5 


“ Don’t get heaty, Bags,” urged Shadow. “ This hain’t 
no time fur that. Cash is cash, and a thousand’s a thou- 
sand. Besides, there’s another thing as we might do well 
to gab about a bit. And first perhaps we’re about fur 
enough. ” 

“ It’s a wonder you think so ! ” grumbled Bags. 

“And next,” continued Shadow, “are we goin* to 
heave him over afore he wakes up and without takin’ the 
stopper out ? ” 

“ Do you think as there might be money in it ? ” asked 
Bags, brightening, as he turned the boat bows-on to the 
tide. 

“There might be and there might not, ’’replied Shadow. 
“ But leastwise it ain’t likely to do no harm.” 

“ He might let off a howl,” suggested Bags. 

“ I’d fix him afore he done it twice,” returned Shadow, 
menacingly flourishing his pistol. 

“Well then it’s a go, pardner. But I’m afeared it'll 
take half the water of the brook to git him awake. Any- 
how, you take off the cover and give him a splash while 
I keep the boat stiddy ; the swell is rollin’ quite up to- 
night. ” 

Shadow followed his partner’s suggestion and after a 
liberal use of salt water, the man began slowly to regain 
consciousness. A rough shaking from his guardian and 
some fresh applications of cold water completed the oper- 
ation, and the man opened his eyes in a dull and dazed 
manner. This manner, however, soon gave way to one 
of painful realization of his surroundings, and, even in the 
dim light of the stars, the deathly pallor of his face was 
visible. Shadow pressed his weapon against his victim’s 
temple, and again demanded whether it was felt or not. 
Taking for granted that it was, he continued : 

“ Mind now, old ’un. Would yer like a word? ” 

The man signified that he would. 

“Well, then,” the ruffian went on, his finger feeling the 
trigger, “have an eye to yerself. If yer make a bit of a 
racket yer’ll get a drop of cold lead in yer brain-box such 


6 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


as won’t make yer feel over smart. Take out the stopper, 
pardner. ” 

The gag was removed and the man was free to speak. 

“ Now,” said Shadow, “say what yer’vegot to say, and 
say it quick. And don’t go to biddin’ fur yer life, ’cause 
yer’ll go over the minute yer do. Yes, that’s what yer 
here fur, and yer knows it. Now, let it go.” 

“ Don’t be afraid of my offering you money,” the man 
began. “I’d scorn it. Besides, don’t I know that having 
begun you dare not stop now ? All I hope and pray for 
is that you’ll all three be caught and strung up together. 
Now mind. You know who I am : what I want to say is 
that there’s something valuable between the mirror and 
the back-board in my bedroom. Do you hear ? ” 

“Never mind whether I hears or not, ” rejoined Shadow. 
“Is that all yer’ve got to spit out ? ” 

“No, that’s not all. Mind again : There is something 
of great value between the mirror and the back-board in 
my bedroom. Now do your devilish work ! ” 

“Not too fast, capt’n : not too rapid,” put in Bags. 
“Pardner, what about them waluables as we twigged in 
the den ? ” 

“Take them, take them ! ” cried the man. 

“Yer hush!” said Shadow. “Yer let yer mouth off 
like that agin and I’ll croak yer ! Now, Bags, don’t yer 
touch them waluables. Can’t yer see how eager he is fur 
us to have ’em ? He knows it would be dangerous. I’d 
rather give the old lawyer all his tin back agin than take 
them things. Do yer suppose we could keep ’em out of 
the scent of the hounds? No. Yer could sell ’em in 
San Franciscy, and they’d git a straight whiff on ’em. 
Don’t yer touch the waluables, pardner. Yer take the 
man and I’ll take the stone.” 

The bull-dog faced oarsman was reluctantly forced to 
admit the wisdom of his partner’s words, and to forego the 
pleasure of becoming the possessor of the much-coveted 
jewels which he had observed earlier in the evening. The 
victim lay before him on his back, his legs securely bound 


SHADOW AND BAGS. 


7 


together at the knees, and his arms bound closely to his 
sides at the elbows. Throwing down his oars the heart- 
less ruffian raised the helpless sacrifice in his brawny arms, 
while Shadow on his part laid aside his revolver and 
picked up the jagged piece of flagstone which was attached 
to the pallid sufferer to insure his “sounding the deep/' 

“Now, Bags,” he said, “when I say three, over with 
him ! One — two — three ! ” 

Shadow released the stone ; there was a cry from his 
partner of, “You devil I” and the next thing he knew 
Bags and his victim had gone over the side of the boat 
together. The circumstance was enacted in a twinkling, 
but Shadow had time to see, in spite of the midnight gloom 
(for the night was by no means impenetrable), Bags 
grasped in the death-grip of his prey, from which he was 
vainly struggling to free himself as the gloating waters 
closed over their heads. Shadow seized the oars and to 
the best of his ability prevented the disturbed boat from 
drifting away on the swift tide. 

“It can’t be but he’ll come up, havin’ his corks on,” 
he muttered. ‘ * That war most almighty sudden. Blarmed 
good I kept all the cash. Ugh ! but the runnin’ of the 
water makes me dashed chilly arter that. He’d ought to 
have been roped from head to foot, tricky old forge to act 
so dashed cool ! It can’t be but old Bags’ll float up.” 

But Shadow waited in vain. A full half-hour he main- 
tained his watch, but no sign of his colleague appeared. 
Stricken in spite of his hard heart by the awful character 
of the scene which he had witnessed, and to which he had 
been a guilty party, he brought his boat’s head about and 
rowed quickly back to the city. When he set foot on dry 
land, he again muttered to himself, as he was reabsorbed 
by the all-absorbing city : 

“That war almighty sudden! A thousand don’t pay 
fur it. I wonder if he’ll come up where the tides meet. 
Dashed if that water don’t haunt me ! Somethin’ rich 
behind the mirror, hey? Well, she’ll stay there, I’m 
thinkin’. I hope I ain’t a blasted fool ! ” 


8 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER II. . 

LIGHT AND DARK. 

On the same blustering night which hid within its dusky 
folds the tragic events which had struck a dull terror even 
into the depraved heart of Shadow, a close carriage, con- 
veying two persons, drew up in front of a house of very 
reputable appearance situated in a very respectable por- 
tion of the city. By the two gas-lights which glowed 
mildly within crimson globes at the foot of the broad 
flight of steps leading up to the door (but whose colored 
rays could, by no wildest imagination, have been con- 
jured into signals of danger), the appearance of the house 
was easily discernible. It was possessed of a front of 
brown stone, and of a door whose lower half of oak was 
ornamented with an ostentatious brass-handle and with 
elaborate carvings. Through the upper portion of the 
door, which was of glass, a hall decorated with paintings 
and statuary tempted the eye and spoke of wealth and re- 
finement. To the right of the door was a capacious, well- 
lighted room where art and taste had evidently not been 
constrained by lack of means, and whose beauties were 
quite open to the admiring gaze of all passers-by who 
would take the pains to steal a glance through delicately- 
wrought curtains. This room was light, very light — al- 
most too light. Indeed, it seemed to have absorbed nearly 
all the light of the dwelling ; for, with the exception 
of the hall, the rest of the rooms were dark enough — 
at least, on the outside. Before this house the carriage 
stopped, and the occupants could be more plainly seen. 
They were a young man and a young woman. The 
coachman was smiling. The young man and girl were 
talking. 


LIGHT AND DARK. 


9 


“ Now, see, isn’t this nice ? ” asked the youth. 

“I don’t know,” sobbed the girl. 

“ There, don’t cry, Rachel. I’ll go in and see that 
everything is quite right for you. But I know you’ll have 
all that heart could wish.” 

“ I haven’t got you, Robert.” 

But the young man hardly heard the plaintive words, 
for he had stepped out of the carriage and started towards 
the house. As he passed up the steps in the ruddy glow 
of the lights, a most casual observer must have noticed 
that he was in the full glory of young manhood. He was 
quite six feet in height and his shoulders were broad and 
straight. His face was smooth-shaven and finely-chiseled, 
and, had it not been that his manner was strangely nerv- 
ous, his carriage was military. As he stood at the door 
waiting an answer to his summons, the girl in the carriage 
turned her tear-stained face towards him. It was a be- 
witchingly pretty face, in spite of the marks of grief which 
it bore ; and the large dark eyes which were set in it were 
none the less large and dark, because they were filled 
with tears. 

The blind maid who admitted the young man, did not 
usher him into the brilliantly-lighted drawing-room at the 
right of the door, but into a narrow apartment, entered 
from the left side of the hall, whose exterior appearance 
of darkness did not belie its actual condition. Singular 
though it was, it was none the less true, that this hand- 
some and cultured youth, fitted alike by nature and train- 
ing to adorn the most elegant of drawing-rooms, was 
conducted into the little dark room on the left. He had 
been but a few moments in the house which was quiet 
and orderly, as a dwelling of so respectable appearance 
should be, when a door was gently opened in the rear of 
the room in which he was sitting. Judgingfrom the rustle 
of silk which followed, that a female had entered, he 
inquired : 

t( Is this Madame Guillion ? ” 

A low, half-musical voice replied in the affirmative, 


IO 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“I sent you an anonymous letter this morning, saying 
that I should bring a girl here to-night. ” 

“I received the letter, sir, and thank you,” answered 
the voice. 

“I am sure I need have no fears as to the treatment 
which she will receive, Madame,” continued the young 
man. “ I wish her to have the best the house affords.” 

“She shall have the gentlest care and the kindest of 
attendants,” replied the voice. “The sum which you 
mention will, as you know, insure her every comfort.” 

“Here, then, is the money,” said the youth, rising and 
following the direction of the voice. “She is outside. I 
believe you will find that correct. I shall not be seen as 
I go out ? ” 

“You will be observed by no one,” was the decided 
answer of the voice. “Such is the inflexible rule of the 
home.” 

“I will bid you good-night, then.” 

As the young man passed out into the hall, carefully 
closing the door after him, and ran down the steps, his 
manner was visibly more assured. 

“Everything is charming, Rachel,” he said, when he 
reached the carriage. “ Madame Guillion is as kind and 
gentle as a mother. You need have no apprehensions 
whatever, and soon everything will be as before. ” 

But the poor girl only sobbed the more, and would not 
be comforted. Sobbing, she was handed out of the car- 
riage, and sobbing she bade good-bye to the youth, and 
sobbing she was admitted to the home, and gently received 
by its “mother.” As for the young man, finding by his 
watch that it was only nine o’clock, he gave the coach- 
man a number in Madison Avenue, and sprang into the 
carriage. 

“That’s well done and over with ! ” he thought within 
himself as he was driven along. “It was a bad job — a 
job I don’t like, and one which I never expected to be 
forced to perform. It’s a heavy weight off my mind, and 
when I think how it might have turned out, I’m frightened 


LIGHT AND DARK. 


II 


yet. I’m ashamed of the affair and that’s a fact. Not 
that it is so terribly bad in itself, perhaps — all young men 
sow their wild oats — though I am more than sorry for poor 
Rachel — but I declare it is far from being just the thing 
when a man’s engaged to be married. I’m a queer, queer 
fellow, anyway. I seem to possess two natures. One, 
the one Florence loves, is high and fond of all high 
and noble things ; the other, which I continually have to 
hold in check, is as low as the vilest. People never see 
that side, and it’s the least side of me, but it is there, and 
now it has found expression. Oh, my dear girl, would I 
were more worthy of you ! I’d give a hand this minute 
to have it different.” 

Thinking thus, the young man was soon conveyed to 
another very respectable and fashionable house. This 
dwelling, with its front of brown stone and broad flight of 
steps, looked not unlike the other ; and here, as if cherish- 
ing a certain predilection for houses of such description, 
the youth again alighted. No nervousness now. Bidding 
the coachman drive home, he mounted the steps with a 
bound, and was soon seated beside his betrothed. Not in 
the dark this time. Oh, no ! Everything was as light as 
well could be. There was light without stint and light of 
various sorts. There was the mellow glow of the gas, 
casting a soft radiance over the objects in the room — the 
flowers in the thick, velvety carpet, the books on the table 
and the paintings on the wall. There was the redder blaze 
of the open fire on the hearth, as the flames rose and fell 
and dodged gayly about one another, as if engaged in some 
game known only to them and the passing winds. There 
was the light which beamed from the countenance of the 
ardent youth as he gazed enraptured upon the fair face and 
form of his beloved. And lastly, there was the light in the 
heart and on the face of the tender maiden to whom the 
merry chiming of wedding bells was daily growing more 
distinct. As her soft, speaking eyes rested lovingly, almost 
timidly upon the face of the man of her love, why should 
there not have been light in her heart, and why should not 


i2 Where the tides Meet. 

her face have said it was so ? Philip Maitland, the brother 
of the maiden and the life-long friend of Robert Moreland, 
gave up his place at his sister's side shortly after his friend 
entered, and wisely thought of an engagement calling him 
elsewhere. And so the light and the lovers were left in 
peaceful possession of the field. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Robert ! ” said the girl, dropping in her lap the 
needle- work upon which she had been engaged to gaze 
uninterruptedly into her lovers face, “ I thought you would 
never come. Isn’t it strange ! I see you every night, and 
we talk until one would think there was little enough left 
in the world to talk about, and yet when night comes 
again, I’m a little more anxious to see you than ever be- 
fore, and have quite an unconscionable amount to say. 
It does seem a little strange, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ Strange ? ” rejoined Robert. “ I don’t know. Anyway 
I have a practical explanation to offer, and that is that we 
spend so much of our time repeating the same things over 
and over.” 

“You mean fellow ! You insinuate that we never get 
tired of saying we love each other, and are happy in the 
knowledge of our mutual love, and shall have such a 
happy home together. Well, I may as well confess I never 
do. Yes, I plead guilty; but then I declare that some 
things can well bear repetition.” 

“Oh, well,” resumed Robert, “if we do repeat our- 
selves it’s not strange, when one calls to mind that our 
ancestors all down the line from the very beginning have 
done the same thing. It’s no wonder when we have all 
that great mass of evil heredity forcing us. It 'isn’t re- 
corded what Adam said to Eve when he awoke from his 
slumber and found her standing before him ; but I venture 
to say that it was, ‘ Now I’m in Paradise.’ At all events, 
I’m very certain he did not say he was sorry to lose that 
rib. ” 

Florence laughed. ‘ ‘ And while we are jesting on rather 
a sober subject,” she said, “ I, too, would venture to give 
it as my opinion that another flaming sword would have 


LIGHT AND DARK. 


r 3 


been necessary at the gate of the garden to keep our great 
father out, if he had been compelled to leave Eve behind. 
Seriously, Robert, what is love, anyway?” 

“ Well, I declare, that is a nice question to spring on a 
man ! I suspect you want to see whether I read any 
poetry while I was at Princeton. What is love ? Byron 
says it is youth's frenzy.” 

“Oh, I don’t like Byron — he’s too moody and pessimis- 
tic. Besides, he didn’t love his wife, and how can he 
know anything true about love. No, you must try again. 
What is love ? ” 

“ How will Scott do ? ” 

“ Scott is better.” 

“ Well, then, Scott says : 

“ ‘ It is the secret sympathy, 

The silver link, the silken tie, 

Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, 

In body and in soul car hind.’ 

Does that suit you better ? " ' ' 

“Yes, indeed, that is more normal — Scott was such a 
man in comparison with Byron. And it’s my theory, you 
know, that a poet can’t rise much above his manhood. 
His character refuses to be ruled by his genius. Yes, that 
is much better.” 

“Yet, rather bad for your theory, Byron could say 
such a sweet thing as this about our little blind god : 

“ ‘ Oh, love, young love ! bound in thy rosy band, 

Let sage and cynic prattle as he will, 

These hours, and only these, redeem life’s years of ill .’ n 

“Do you call that sweet, Robert? I don’t. It’s just 
as full of misanthropy as it can be. What kind of a wild 
love is that which a man seizes as he would wine to drown 
his sorrows. No, dear, Byron chills me. But you’re 
improving; try again.” 

“You seem to forget, Florence, that there’s beggary in 


14 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


the love that can be reckoned. Let me close my attempts 
with the following : 

“ ‘ Ask me not, love, what is love ? 

Ask what is good of God above — 

Ask of the great sun what is light — 

Ask what is darkness of the night — 

Ask sin of what may be forgiven — 

Ask what is happiness of Heaven — 

Ask what is folly of the crowd — 

Ask what is fashion of the shroud — 

Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss — 

Ask of thyself what beauty is.’ 

There now, Miss Florence, I'm done ; and turn about 
being fair play, I call upon you to take the lexicographer's 
chair and give me your definition. ” 

“Well, dear,” replied Florence, suddenly growing quite 
sober and thoughtful, “your last quotation is good, and 
certainly very pretty, but it does not seem to put into 
words the love I feel. I have been trying all day to ex- 
press myself to myself, and I think I have partially suc- 
ceeded. What is love ? It is myself awake — it is my 
life in action.” 

“That has a very deep and philosophical sound, 
but I think I get your meaning, and it certainly is 
beautiful. You mean that love is self-realization.” 

“Yes. I had not thought of it in just that language. 
It is another way of expressing the same thing — perhaps 
a better way. Yes, love is self-realization. The deeper 
and holier the love, the more full and perfect the enlight- 
enment. I sometimes wonder now how you could pos- 
sibly have fallen in love with such a girl as I seem to my- 
self to have been when you asked me to be yours. I was 
so weak and frivolous and vacillating. I did not know 
myself, and therefore, I did not know the things around me. 
The half of my soul being dead, what wonder is it that 
numberless things which needed my help came to me and 
touched me, and I was as irresponsive as a stone or a log ? 
But it is all so different now. Everything that the Creator 


LIGHT AND DARK. 


J 5 

has put around me touches me. The clouds in heaven, 
the water in the river, the dead leaf in the street, and 
above all the slightest cry of the human, call to me and 
speak to me. Ah, Robert, Robert, how shall I ever thank 
you for all your love has done for me ! And how I pity 
some women whose lovers and husbands are not men 
whom they can look up to and respect, and whose love 
at best must be a very poor and half-hearted affair, bring- 
ing them but the faintest notion of that rich and ennobling 
self-realization which has come to me. Oh, my love, 
what a holy thing it is to love a man whom you honor 
and trust to the uttermost ! ” 

To the uttermost ! What mockery ! Robert Moreland 
could have cursed himself in the knowledge that he was 
unworthy of the trust reposed in him so implicitly by the 
noble, truth-loving heart which he had won. For the 
moment, the flash-light of his betrothed’s pure nature 
was turned upon his sin, and what he had tried to excuse 
as a young man’s indiscretion and a sowing of wild oats, 
gleamed forth in all its horrid reality. 

“Florence, Florence!” he cried, “ I am so unworthy 
of you. You will never know how unworthy. You say 
love is yourself awake. Ah, my dear, you may be 
awake, but you surely have your eyes closed. Your love 
makes light of darkness and flowers of weeds. You throw 
about me the cloak of your own perfect loveliness, and 
have eyes only for that. Or have I hidden myself from 
you? Have I shown you only my best side? Have I 
allowed you to see only the higher part of my nature ? — 
my love for the true, the beautiful, and th$ good ? Oh, 
my darling, why did you not love one more deserving of 
you ! " 

When Robert had finished, Florence turned her face full 
into his and, taking both his hands in hers, said slowly : 

“Robert, you must never talk to me like that. And 
now, let us change the subject. Speaking of being awake 
reminds me of such a bad dream I had last night. I 
creamed we h^d be$n married and were living together 


i6 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


*ust as happily as we shall live, when, as we were sitting 
talking one bright, sunshiny day, all at once there came 
a shadow big and black and thick, which hid you from 
my sight. Then, as I waited in fear and wonder, out of 
the shadow there came a voice, and gradually I saw to 
whom the voice belonged. It came from a dark, beauti- 
ful, but angry woman, and it said : 4 I’m a Shadow of the 
Past : Pm a Shadow of the Past ! ’ When this had been 
repeated several times, the woman drew back again into 
the shadow, and the shadow disappeared. After it had 
gone, I looked to see you, but you seemed to have gone 
with it. How frightened I was ! I began searching all 
about the room, and when I could not find you, my alarm 
was so vivid that I awoke and found it was a dream. 
Will you be my Joseph and interpret to me my dream ? ” 

It was with a supreme effort that Robert Moreland pre- 
served his composure. It seemed to him as if some 
unseen hand had written in burning characters upon the 
wall of the room in full sight of them both, the guilty 
secret which he had supposed securely locked within the 
chambers of his own breast. He felt suddenly oppressed 
with the distorted fancy that some gliding spectre of the 
night had whispered into his love’s ear the dream which 
she had narrated. But he succeeded in controlling him- 
self and answered lightly : 

“No, I’m no Joseph — I haven’t any brothers to throw me 
into a pit. But I can tell you what the fabric of your 
dream was woven of. Of the saccharine threads of that 
box of chocolate caramels we devoured last night.” 

Here Robert diverted the conversation to another sub- 
ject, and it passed from theme to theme under the sway 
of light and love until rather a late hour. As he rose 
to go, Philip Maitland, who had just returned, walked into 
the room. 

“Oh, Robert!” exclaimed Florence, “let’s give our 
question to Phil. Now, Phil dear, attention ! One, two, 
three — what is love ? ” 

“What is love? ” repeated Philip, and his fine, thought- 


LIGHT AND DARK. 


*7 

ful face grew very sober. ‘ ‘ What is love ? Love is the 
fulfilling of the law.” 

“Phil always was such a sober-sides, dear old chap,” 
said Robert to himself as he was walking towards home, 
repeating in his mind his friend’s definition. “‘Love is 
the fulfilling of the law/ I declare I don't mean to be 
hypocritical with Florence — I love her too much for that. 
I’d die for her this minute if it were necessary. By 
Heaven ! I wish I had never seen Rachel. I never 
meant to be so low — never ! It came so gradually, inch 
by inch. I never did appreciate how bad it was until to- 
night. My God! they’d both scorn me if they knew. I 
do feel like a veritable hypocrite. But Florence loves me, 
heart and soul, and I love her, and we’ll be perfectly 
happy. I'm a thousand times sorry — I do repent of it. 
But being done it cannot be undone. ‘ Love is the fulfill- 
ing of the law.’ Florence will find that my love will bear 
that definition. Dear old Phil, you were sober in college 
and you’re soberer in seminary, but I wish I were more 
like you. ‘Myself, awake: self-realization: the fulfilling 
of the law. ’ ” 

Meditating thus, Robert was not long in reaching his 
own home. To his surprise, his mother opened the door 
for him before he had time to use his key. 

“Why, mother ! ” he exclaimed, “ why not in bed? I 
thought that only rogues and lovers staid up so late.” 

But Mrs. Moreland, pale, anxious woman that she ever 
was, felt in no frame of mind for persiflage. 

“I am much worried, son,” she said, “and your jest 
may carry with it a very sober meaning. Your father ha§ 
not yet returned. I fear something is wrong.” 

“There, now, mother, you mustn’t let your nerves get 
the better of you so ! ” rejoined Robert, taking the troubled 
woman lovingly in his strong arms. “You know father 
is liable to take odd notions into his head, and he has 
probably had a fancy for making a midnight session of it 
somewhere. Did he say where he was going, or how late 
he expected to be out? ” 

2 


i8 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“He intended to go to Mr. Hardangle’s office. A letter 
summoned him to meet the lawyer after dinner.” 

“Of course, mother; that explains it all. You can 
just put your fears to rest. Don't lawyers have tongues 
a mile long? You know they do, even if your own father 
was of the same cloth. Ten to one, those two are seated 
smoking in Hardangle’s office, and goingit quite oblivious 
to the hour. So you just stop your worrying, my pretty 
mother, and congratulate me on having the sweetest and 
loveliest girl in the universe.” 

“Certainly I congratulate you, Robert,” replied Mrs. 
Moreland. “You know very well what I think of Flor- 
ence Maitland. She is delightful in herself and she comes of 
a very good family. I am truly happy for you both. You 
will get a charming wife, and Florence a good husband, 
loving and true — one who will never bring her a moment’s 
trouble or shame. The thought is a great delight to me. 
But now I cannot help feeling very anxious about your 
father. Had you not better go at once to the office, dear ? ” 

“Of course I had, mother. Anything in the world to 
keep you from worrying. I suppose it would be of no 
use to ask you to go to bed and to sleep.” 

“ I shall await your return here. Do not be any longer 
than you can help, please.” 

With this parting request urging him on, Robert knew 
very little of the chill November gusts that at irregular 
intervals blustered against him as he hurried along. The 
lawyer’s office was dark and deserted, but its gloom 
raised no suspicion of evil in his mind, for he at once 
concluded that his father and Mr. Hardangle had spent 
the evening together away from the office, or that his 
father had taken a more circuitous route than the one by 
which he himself had come — had perhaps accompanied the 
lawyer — and so had passed him on the way. However, 
he walked briskly home. His mother heard his foot on 
the doorstep, and threw open the door. Her son was alone! 
She g-ivea sudden gasp of agony as the patient does when 
the knife goes deep, and grasped the door for support, 


LIGHT AND DARK. 


*9 

“ Mother, mother, what is the matter!” cried the 
alarmed Robert. “ Has my father not yet returned ? ” 
‘‘No, Robert, no!” moaned the sorely distressed 
woman. “ Oh, I knew it, I knew it ! He has been robbed 
or murdered ! Oh, Robert, Robert, Robert ! ” 

“There, there, dear mother, don’t feel so,” said Robert 
soothingly, and as confidently as his own rising fears 
would permit. “Father may merely have gone home 
with Mr. Hardangle, and prolonged the talk at the lawyer’s 
house. There are twenty explanations of his absence 
besides the terrible one you have mentioned. Now be 
brave, mother dear, and I will hurry round to Mr. Hard- 
angle’s and make inquiries.” 

Calling up one of the servants to attend his mother, 
Robert Moreland slipped quietly out of.the house and ran 
rapidly to Thirty-fourth Street. Upon turning the corner, 
he dashed almost into the arms of the man he sought. 
The lawyer who had been walking slowly, absorbed in 
thought, startled by the young man’s sudden advent, gave 
a frightened leap to one side. 

“I trust, Mr. Hardangle,” cried the hard-breathing 
youth apologetically, “that I have not greatly alarmed 
you. I must beg you to excuse me. And let my excuse 
be, that I am much exercised about my father.” 

“You have no need of excuse,” replied the lawyer 
affably, discovering who his midnight assailant was, “ no, 
need, Mr. Moreland, I am sure. You spoke of your 
father ; is he taken suddenly ill ? ” 

‘ ‘ No, no, sir ! ” cried Robert, his fears now fully 
aroused, “I fear it is worse than that. Was he not with 
you this evening ? ” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed the man of law. “ Do you mean 
that your father has not yet returned home ? He left me 
at the door of the building in which I have my office, con- 
siderably over an hour ago.” 

“And he then signified his intention of returning ? ” 
“He most certainly did. He said he had not informed 
his wife of his evening’s work lest she should worry, an4 


20 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


being later than he had anticipated, he must hurry. At 
about nine o’clock we took a cab as far as McAuley’s 
Helping Hand, having set out to inspect the conduct of 
certain of your father’s Water Street tenants. We came 
back by way of the Battery, and he left me as I have 
said. ” 

“Oh, my God ! ” 

“ Why do you exclaim ? You cannot suspect foul treat- 
ment ? Oh, that cannot be ! ” 

“What else can it be, sir ! What else can it be ! ” 

“Really, Mr. Moreland, I cannot say just what it may 
be, but I am confident that your solicitude, though quite 
natural, is groundless. A man of your father’s character- 
istics might find fifty things to call him aside — he is so 
downright and impulsive. Why, it would not be unlike 
him to stop and take some drunken woman to her home.” 

“Not when he was hurrying because he feared my 
mother was anxious. No, sir; no, sir! Would I could 
believe it ! Oh, this will kill her ! Good-night, sir.” 

Mr. Hardangle’s good-night was quite lost upon 
the young man, who darted away like a shot, leaving the 
lawyer again alone even more abruptly than he had 
joined him. 

“You’re a good runner, but you’ll have to run faster 
than that if you overtake him to-night,” muttered Lawyer 
Hardangle as he turned into his house. “High play: 
high stakes.” 


MR. SILAS SLA CRT. 


21 


CHAPTER III. 

MR. SILAS SLACK. 

Mr. Silas Slack was the inmate of a tenement in 
“downtown.” The great, dirty, square, brick enclosure 
in which he lived, could not justly have been numbered 
among the worst of its class, for there was at least one 
hour of the day when the sun, having : climbed out of its 
salt bath in the eastern wave, did summon the courage to 
look into its dismal depths, even if, finding the attempt 
rather fruitless, it speedily withdrew its pale and disgusted 
beams. 

There was a deadly fire-conducting air-shaft in it, to be 
sure ; but then its bedrooms had been sawed out of dark- 
ness — into shade. In the rear of the house, too, was a 
yard of unusual size, even though, to the uninitiated, it 
might seem only a gap between two lofty brick walls, and 
even though the little patch of sky — and how far away it 
looked ! — visible from it, did make itself seen through a per- 
fect network of perennial clothes-lines. Moreover, there 
were not more than fifty squalid children in the building, and 
even in the pest-breeding dog-days, the water would rise 
as high as the second story. So numerous, in truth, were 
the advantages which this partitioned brick box enjoyed 
that Mr. Slack would never consent to its being styled a 
tenement at all, and always majestically rebuked such of 
his friends as were inclined, not unnaturally, so to de- 
nominate it, by reminding them that it was more properly 
called an “apartment-house.” 

Mr. Slack’s rooms, two in all, were situated upon the 
water-blessed second floor. Here, with his wife and four 
children, he existed rather than lived — not always on the 
best of terms with his very near and numerous neigh- 


22 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


bors, whose inquisitive and obtrusive tendencies were 
much to his annoyance, and upon whom he wasted no 
little breath and warmth in seeking to convince them 
that their manners were not suitable for an apartment 
house. But, poor, darkened beings that they were, the 
more Mr. Slack preached, the more they practiced the 
contrary doctrine, and sought, by every means in their 
power, to prove to him that, inasmuch as he could enjoy 
no family privacy, therefore the name which had been 
affixed to the building by common consent was rightly so 
affixed; and, adding insult to injury, they, one and all, 
because of what they chose to call his aristocratic ideas, 
dubbed him Apartment Slack. 

Mr. Slack was an odd man. He was an odd man 
within, and he certainly was an odd man without. Of 
that which was within, he will speak for himself. As to 
the impression which he created within the mind of his 
fellows, it was that of a stunted youth of sixteen tricked out 
in his father’s clothes. The elements which united to pro- 
duce this impression were a small, boyish face, quite un- 
encumbered by whiskers, and a short, slim frame, pro- 
tected by garments which were long and — stout. Of a 
truth, there was sufficient material in the clothing which 
he habitually wore to cover' two men of his size ; and 
this spirit of excess, descending from his coat-tails, in- 
cluded his shoes, and, ascending from his collar, infected 
his hat. Add to all this the fact that when he spoke it 
was in the high-keyed tone of a ten-year-old boy, and the 
picture is complete. 

This overplus of clothing gained for Mr. Slack the addi- 
tional title of The Lawyer ; for it was a well-known fact 
among his associates that his apparel came to him at sec- 
ond-hand, from the back of the man of law in whose 
office he won a livelihood for himself and his family. 
Mr. Slack naturally did not relish this slur, but having no 
choice between submitting to it and bearing the expense 
of clothing himself, he wisely determined to put up with 
it and endure it as indifferently as he could; for Mr. 


MR. S/LAS SLA CRT. 


23 


Slack’s earnings in the office of Jeremiah Hardangle were 
not of such proportions as to render him careless concern- 
ing the incurring of fresh expenses, even though they were 
sufficient to keep his offspring from freezing in winter and 
starving in summer. 

Upon the same gusty evening which witnessed Shadow 
and Bags steering their dark craft across the dark waters 
and Lawyer Hardangle muttering strange things to him- 
self on his doorstep, Mr. Slack, sitting in that one of his 
apartments comprising kitchen, dining-room, library and 
drawing-room within its four rather contracted walls, was 
reading his evening paper ; or, to be more precise, it was 
the paper which his employer had read at eight o’clock in 
the morning. 

While the head of the family read, his eldest, Milly, 
was spreading the table for dinner — if the act of placing 
a few badly nicked and half-clean dishes upon a rickety 
table is justly entitled to a name so genteel — his better 
half was busily engaged over a rusty cooking stove, 
which occupied one corner of the room, frying a bit of 
ham and a modicum of eggs ; and his remaining three 
children, Mike, Mary and Jim, were kneeling on the floor, 
immersed in a game of marbles. 

“Oh, Milly !” cried Mike to his sister, “I wish you 
would mind. You’re always a-kicking the marvels out of 
the ring ! ” 

“Drat your marvels!” rejoined Milly sharply, who 
had narrowly escaped being upset by them, with the tea- 
pot she was carrying. “They’re always under my feet, 
and there hain’t no room for your nonsense, anyhow ! ” 

Mike’s younger brother and sister here joining in warmly 
in his defense, an angry war of words ensued which 
gave every prospect of turning into a trial of strength, 
when Mr. Slack, without taking his eyes from his paper, 
cried out in his piping voice : 

“Shut up your clack, the whole of you ! ” 

The effect was magical. The confusion immediately 
ceased, and, while Milly made the tea in silence, the 


24 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


younger children proceeded meekly with their game. 
But the family peace was destined to be once more dis- 
turbed before the dinner was safely lodged upon the table. 
Owing to the fact that, in size and shape, the room 
strongly resembled a large dry-goods box ; and owing 
further to the table’s selfishly demanding the lion’s 
share of box-room, and crowding the stove into the cor- 
ner, and little Jim’s crib and four sadly bruised chairs 
against the wall, in an overbearing, no-thoroughfare fash- 
ion, it required rather skillful pilotage to navigate it with 
freedom from collision. It was therefore not an unlikely 
circumstance that, as Mrs. Slack was turning from the 
stove with the ham and eggs, she should encounter Milly 
returning from the table with the tea-pot to add hot water. 
Nor was it unnatural that this encounter should result in 
Mrs. Slack’s being obliged deftly to save two of the eggs 
from contact with the floor by seizing them rather too 
tightly in her left hand ; nor that the tea-pot should 
eject a few drops of boiling liquid upon the marble-play- 
ers ; nor that a further cry of anger should arise from the 
floor against the exasperated Milly. However, Mr. Slack 
quickly put an end to this second outbreak also, and, lay- 
ing aside his paper, called the children to the table, and 
took his place at its head. 

Now Mr. Slack’s favorite meal was his evening dinner, 
as ham and eggs was his favorite dish ; and the savory 
odor accompanying the smoke which filled the room 
almost to suffocation, warmed his heart and loosened his 
tongue. After he had served the ham and eggs he looked 
over to where his wife, a large-featured woman with a 
very meek and listless expression, sat pouring the tea, 
and said : 

“ Paulina, I am sure I have reason to be proud of you 
in every way.” 

‘‘Very kind of Silas to say so,” murmured Mrs. Slack. 

“Very kind? Not in the least, my dear. To be sure, 
your face and form are not calculated to inspire statuary 
in the mind of the sculptor, nor madonnas in the breast of 


Mr. SILAS SLA CM. 


2 5 

the artist ; but, Paulina, handsome is as handsome does, 
and this ham and eggs is little short of perfection/’ 

“Very grateful to Silas for speaking so,” again inter- 
jected Mrs. Slack, dutifully cropping off the beginning of 
her remark, as if scarcely venturing to rise to the bold 
height of the first personal pronoun, in the presence of her 
mighty lord. 

“Grateful? Well, if you will have it so, Paulina, so 
let it be, and thus let it remain,” cried Mr. Slack in a vehe- 
ment squeak. “Paulina,” he continued, “ are you proud 
of me ? ” 

“Silas ought to know.” 

•‘Yes, 'he ought to know, and he does know. More- 
over, you bring up your offspring to be proud of their 
father, and to do honor to the stock whence they are 
sprung. Children, are you proud of your pa ? ” 

Milly, Mike, Mary, and Jim (perfect by practice) : 

“ Very proud, pa.” 

“That is right, my children — quite proper. And why 
are you proud of me ? ” 

Again the chorus : 

“Because you have never begged for a living, pa.” 

“Well said, my dears. No, I never have begged, nor 
will I beg. There is plenty of work to be done in this 
world — money-getting labor. But there are different sorts 
of work. Paulina, tell the children what kind of labor 
their father has chosen to gain for them an honorable 
livelihood.” 

“ Headwork, my children,” submissively breathed Mrs. 
Slack, without raising her vacant and lusterless eyes from 
her plate, “ headwork. ” 

“You hear your mother’s words, children? Yes, head- 
work. Oh, you little guess, you, to whom food and cloth- 
ing come in such ample abundance ” (transferring the re- 
mainder of the ham and eggs from the dish before him, 
to his own plate, while Mike and Mary both drew their 
bare feet under them to avoid the cold draught that sucked 
noisily under the door), “in such abundance that they seem 


26 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


to drop unasked from the skies, the hours of anxiety and 
study which they have cost your father. More : you do 
not, in the nature of the case, cannot — the evidence for- 
bids it — imagine the toil involved in procuring this pleas- 
ant and healthful dish of ham and eggs. Mary, you seem 
to have more than you can dispose of, I will just relieve 
you of that piece of ham. I was saying, my children, 
that you could not, did not have the necessary papers to 
imagine my toil. Nor am I at all anxious that you should. 
I like to see my children happy, and free from care. I 
love to think of them as protected from all storms, and 
from wolves of every sort. But I do say that it will not 
injure you — What ! Mike, have you gobbled that enor- 
mous piece of ham, and that great chunk of bread, already ? 
You must try to eat more slowly — it will not harm you in 
the least, if occasionally you remember, in the midst of 
your plenty, and sheltered in this snug home — howbeit, 
surrounded a little too closely by obtrusive and unpolite 

neighbors- there, there’s one of them at the door now ! 

Get out of here, I say ! Yes, you, you O’Brien brat, you’re 
on the wrong floor. Get out, I say ! ” 

“All right, Apartment ! ” sung out the O’Brien brat, as 
he slammed the door. “You’ll soon be turning into a half- 
a-dozen hams in your little smoke-house. ” 

“There, now,” Mr. Slack began again, “there, now, 
Paulina, you see an instance of badly brought-up children. 
That brat was never taught to be proud of his pa — 
and it ain’t remarkable, with such a pa. But where was 
I — what point in the case had I reached ? Oh, yes. I was 
urging upon you as a jury, that it would not harm you, if 
once in a while, you turned your eyes in the direction of 
Broadway, and beheld your father working over involved 
and contradictory evidence. I said working : it was a 
poor word. Better, had I said drudging — slaving. I lash 
the flagging steeds of my mind to their duties, with ter- 
rific energy. And what, my children and Paulina, what 

if they should prove Mrs. Tafferty, I wish you would 

do me the favor to keep out of my apartments. This is 


MR. SILAS SLACK i 


27 

at least twenty times you’ve bothered me this week, and 
it’s only Tuesday, at that.” 

“Aye, indade, thin why will yez be foriver a-shpoutin ? ” 
cried Mrs. Tafferty, poking her head a little further in at 
the door. “A dacent person can’t hear herself thinkin’ 
fur yer iverlastin , arguifyin’. I’m slathered if I don’t 
complain on yez ! ” 

“There’s another hideous example,” Mr. Slack con- 
tinued, when Mrs. Tafferty had withdrawn, “this time of 
a wife that gives no respect to her husband. But heed 
her not, my dears. I had just begun to ask — Is it possible 
that I can have put away three cups of tea, Paulina ! Be 
so good as to refill — I was about to inquire what would 
take place if aforesaid steeds should prove unequal to the 
strain put upon them by said Slack. I will not answer this 
question. It is an irrelevant question, and not germane 
to the present issue. No, I will not : the prospect is too 
forbidding. ’* 

Mr. Slack pausing here for breath, the children looked 
up questioningly into their father’s face to ascertain 
whether he had come to an end ; while Mrs. Slack, throw- 
ing an unwonted emphasis into her voice, exclaimed : 

“Silas, you are one of them ! ” 

This was all the wordy lawyer needed. 

“Paulina ! ” he cried, “do not praise me. Praise must 
be very slenderly dispensed to some persons : it has a 
tendency to volatilize the mind. Let your praise be re- 
served for others less sensible to your many charms. 
And yet, if you will praise me, Paulina, praise me for — I 
hesitate to say it. Give me the word, my dear. ” 

“Your honesty, Silas.” 

“Ah, yes, that is it. I feared to speak it, lest I should 
seem already spoiled into conceit by your good opinions. 
That is praise which I trust is both well-merited and not 
calculated to injure. If I do pride myself on one thing, 
Paulina, and my dears, it is that I seek rather to hide than 
to publish my pre-eminent virtue. But do you, my chil- 
dren, none the less, seek to bear in mind, that honesty has 


28 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


made it possible for you to have a being, and honesty has 
nourished you and kept you alive. Repeat it now, chil- 
dren. What has raised you ? ” 

“Honesty, pa.” 

“Yes, my dears. And whose honesty? ” 

“ Pa’s.” 

“Right again. Yes, pa’s honesty has done much for 
you — more than you can tell — by making him trusted and 
beloved, among his many colleagues of the law. Hence 
they give, bequeath, and devise to him many things — this 
valuable and roomy coat, and these ample pantaloons, 
for example. Moreover, it has kept him in the employ of 
one man — the highly respected Hardangle, Esq., — well, 
I may say, all my days. I have been there since the 
time I was a mere boy in size — before my voice had 
changed ” 

“Oh, my glorious, jumpin’ jumpers ! ” cried a boy’s 
voice through a hole in the wall, “and do you hear that? 
Before his voice changed ! O my eye ! It must have 
been the squeak of a rat, if it’s changed now ! ” 

Mr. Slack, one of whose most delicate points was his 
woman’s voice, rose in a towering rage, and savagely 
threw his plate at the hole whence the voice proceeded. 

“You sneaking, slandering little imp!” he cried. 
“You push that rag out of its hole again, and I’ll do you, 
and have the law on you, do you hear ! ” 

An irritating snicker from the other side of the board 
partition, was Mr. Slack’s only reply. He hurried to re- 
place the fallen rag, but did not stop to pick up the broken 
fragments of egg-stained plate which surrounded it, lest 
his children should take advantage of the opportunity 
which would be afforded to slip away from the table. 
He, therefore, speedily resumed his seat and his dis- 
course. 

“I was saying when I was so impudently interrupted/’ 
he began, “that my colleagues of the bar, at odd times, 
had bestowed upon me certain necessary outer garments. 
To speak more truly, it is alone from Hardangle that I 


MR. S/LAS SLACK. 


29 


have received said garments. And yet, do I entertain 
feelings of gratitude and love towards the aforesaid gen- 
tleman ? No, no ! And why ? Am I ungrateful ? Again, 
no. But, Paulina, I leave it to you, have I not, in your 
estimation, by my long years of legal study, been entitled 
to promotion in my calling ? Now, I put the question : 
Have I or have I not ? ” 

“ Silas certainly is right.” 

“Answered like the true wife you are, my dear. Yes, 
I have merited it. But I have not received it. With the 
exception of a slight raise in my salary, I am no higher 
in my calling and vocation to-day than when I first 
began. And is it reasonable that the small item of a few 
clothes for the body, should outweigh this outrage ? Is it 
reasonable or is it not ? ” 

‘ ‘ Silas is surely in the right. ” 

“Of course I am. It is very unreasonable — and it is 
not a fact ! Ah, Paulina, wealth makes men’s hearts cold 
as a stone and twice as hard. I hate them, my dear, one 
and all. I tell you they are grinders. They get their 
heels upon poverty and trample it into the dust. I hate 
them and despise them ; though not without reason — I 
could produce the evidence. And hating them as I do, 
Paulina, I am ever watchful for an opportunity to get 
even with them, to raise their feet from my neck, and 
that so suddenly and so high, that I shall spill them 
— spill them completely over ! ” 

“ Go it, old Fourth of July ! ” cried a lad’s voice at 
the key-hole. “ Give ’em the deuce with pepper on it! 
Squeak away till the cat catches you ! ” 

Mr. Slack, who had worked himself into quite a heat 
with his own words, was in no mood for this exasperating 
interruption. He ran to the stove, seized the poker, and 
darted vengefully toward the door. But the little mis- 
creant was safely out of harm’s way. There was a 
patter of feet in the darkness below, and then a derisive 
laugh sounded up the winding stairs, followed by the 
words ; 


3 ° 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Keep your eye out for old Tabby, mousey, or she 
will nab you.” 

The street-door slammed triumphantly as the young 
urchin left the building, and his victim had nothing to do 
but slam his own door in return, put the blood-thirsty 
poker back in its place, and render the little room lurid 
with curses on his insolent neighbors. The youngest 
three members of his audience having now cleverly 
betaken themselves to their marbles, and his wife and 
eldest daughter being engaged in clearing the table, Mr. 
Slack, as soon as his passion had time to cool itself, put 
on his coat and hat, and signified his intention of going 
out. 

“ Do I make a secret of my evening resort, Paulina? ” 
he asked. 

“Silas does not.” 

“No, Paulina, I do not. I am going to my old Side 
Pocket. Not to Hell’s Dairy, nor to the Poor Man’s Rest 
— though there is good three-cent whisky to be had there 
— nor yet to the Heavenly Home, nor to the Rock of 
Salvation. To none of these do I go : but to my old 
Side Pocket, conducted and managed by one Paddy Mc- 
Carthy. When I return from said Pocket, in what state 
shall I be, Paulina ? ” 

“In an exhilarated state, Silas.” 

“Yes, in that, and in no other. Have you ever known 
me to go beyond and transcend the bounds of decency 
and propriety, Paulina, and reach an intoxicated state, 
a maudlin state ? ” 

“ Paulina never has.” 

“And never will ! Now, good-night, my dears. While 
I am gone, you shall be not a moment out of my mind. 
The family-tie is very strong in me, Paulina, very — the 
knot was well made. Good-night. ” 

And Mr. Slack, virtuously refusing the many saloons 
which he passed on his way, saloons on every street- 
corner, saloons in the middle of every block, saloons 
next to tenements, saloons under tenements, saloons next 


J/A\ SILAS SLA CAT. 


3 * 

to shoe-stores, saloons next to butchers’ stalls, saloons 
next to grocery stores, and saloons next to each other — 
Mr. Slack scrupulously avoiding all these, did not once 
pause in his walk until the wire-protected and blind- 
screened Side Pocket received him into its ever-extended 


arms. 


3 2 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER IV. 

MR. SLACK IS STRICTLY HONEST. 

The next morning could by no possibility have dawned 
in any other month than November. The air was raw as 
a Newfoundland fog flavored with icebergs, and seemed 
to drop upon the earth almost with an audible shock 
from the leaden mass of cloud which hid the sky. The 
water of the harbor and rivers was so cold and sullen, as 
apparently to begrudge the gulls the breakfast they were 
fishing out of it. A bleak wind was claiming sole pos- 
session of the streets as first-comer, and the dust was 
asserting a good second claim. 

In spite of all these disagreeable conditions, the rising 
day beheld Mr. Slack punctually repairing to Lawyer 
Hardangle’s office, and in due time he arrived at the huge 
stone edifice which was the scene of his daily occupation. 
He had no need to pause at the foot of the stairs to con- 
sult the directory whose gilt letters glowed at him from a 
black tablet on his left, to learn that the office he sought 
was upon the second floor. Long experience had done 
away with any such necessity. Mounting the stairs, 
therefore, without delay, he directed his steps towards the 
door upon whose upper half of obscure glass, was in- 
scribed in black lettering : 

Jeremiah Hardangle 

Attorney at Law Master in Chancery 

Notary Public. 

Before this door Mr. Slack halted his steps, and, scowl- 
ing at it as if it had been some living individual who had 
mortally offended him, he muttered ; 


MR. SLA CRT IS STRICTLY HONEST. 


33 


“ Hardangle Esquire, ladies and gentlemen. Highly 
respected by those that don’t know him. A Turner at 
Law. Master in Chance, sir. Notorious Boot-lick.” 

Having rendered this very free translation of the 
hieroglyphics before him, Mr. Slack proceeded to unlock 
the personified portal, to enter the waiting-room which led 
into the main office, and to dispose his hat and coat upon 
their accustomed pegs. After these preliminaries, he 
shuffled over to the little closet which snuggled tightly 
against the wall beside the hall-door, and giving the inno- 
cent brass knob a savage jerk, as if it, too, in some mys- 
terious way or other, were implicated in the nefarious 
scheme of “grinding him to powder,” he brought to light 
a broom, a dust-pan and a feather-duster. Armed with 
these implements of cleanliness, he entered the main office 
and began a fierce onslaught on yesterday’s dust._^ 

His work was almost finished, when it chanced to occur to 
him that Wednesday was his usual day for sweeping under 
the lawyer’s desk. He, therefore, ill-humoredly betook 
himself to his knees and began to work his broom furiously 
back and forth under the desk, whose drawers on either 
side reached almost to the floor. He had nearly com- 
pleted this unpleasant task, and was grumbling something 
about its menial character for one so long in the profession 
as himself, when the broom in its dusty travels caught 
hold of some small, hard object, and snapped it against 
the base-board. To the base-board immediately followed 
Mr. Slack. For, as the object lay at rest on the floor, it 
had very much the appearance of gold. And gold it 
proved to be ! As Mr. Slack examined it with widening 
eyes, he found it to be a sleeve-button upon which a tiny, 
jeweled serpent with ruby eyes, coiled itself into the 
form of the letter W. Looking quickly up to make sure 
that no one was observing him, Mr. Slack’s first impulse 
was to conceal the new-found treasure in his pantaloons 
pocket. But afterwards, affecting to despise himself be- 
cause so base a thought had for a moment found lodging- 
place in his honest mind, he placed the button on the win- 
3 


34 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


dow-sill, and finished his work. Then he returned to the 
window, and seating himself in it, sought by a closer 
examination to learn the value of what he had found. 

“Here,” he said to himself, waxing grandiloquent as 
his scrutiny revealed the undoubted worth of the jeweled 
button, “ has Fortune, in the form and under the guise of 
a well-worn office-broom, thrown into my way one of 
those favors which she bestows only upon the brave. 
And what shall I say? That I am brave. I did not 
shrink from performing a most disagreeable and obnoxious 
duty. And what shall I say next ? That I am tender. 
The bravest being the tenderest, as Hardangle — Mister 
Hardangle, ladies and gentlemen — said in court last week 
in the case of Evans vs. Smyth, it follows necessarily that 
the brave are the tender. Therefore, being tender, I am pos- 
sessed of feelings, emotions. And if I am possessed of a 
heart, I would not willfully rob a man of that which is no 
doubt dear to him. To sum up : I am proven brave, tender 
and honest ; and, being all these — and especially the last — 
the desire which rises large within me, to retain as personal 
property this trinket, cannot spring from dishonest motives. 
Hence, gentlemen of the jury, I do honestly desire to 
retain it. And, furthermore, I may add that my desire is 
naturally an honest one because, first, I came by the 
button so honestly ; because, secondly, I am a poor man, 
and Hardangle grinds me ; because, thirdly, the rewards of 
uprightness often come in unlooked-for ways ; and be- 
cause, fourthly, the case is proved, and I hear Hardangle 
coming up the stairs. Good-morning, Mr. Hardangle.” 

“Good-morning, Silas,” replied the man of law, with- 
out once looking at Mr. Slack, and seeming, as was his 
wont, completely absorbed by his own thoughts and quite 
careless of those of any one else. Indeed, his dark face 
with its grizzled, close-cropped mustache and self-con- 
tained, far-away eyes, would have revealed quite as much 
of the thoughts and feelings of its possessor, had it been 
encased in the visor of some mediaeval knight. “ I am 
rather later than usual, ” he continued, ‘ ‘ Any one called ? 


MR. SLA CRT IS STRICTLY HONEST. 


35 

“No one has called, sir,” deferentially replied Mr. 
Slack. “Let me take your coat and hat, sir.” 

“And here, Silas,” said the lawyer, “take this card, 
and as soon as you can, go and inquire at the address 
after the health of the man whose name is upon it — 
Mr. Moreland.” 

Mr. Slack received the card with a bow, and the man 
of law without more words betook himself into his office. 
He had barely closed the door and sat down at his desk, 
when Mr. Slack knocked and announced : 

“Mr. Sargeant, please.” 

Mr. Sargeant, being bidden enter, did so, and in a man- 
ner which caused Mr. Slack to mutter to himself, after the 
door was again closed : 

“Fox ! Cat ! Reminds me of that little snake. Glides 
instead of walks. Thief ! Detective ! ” 

The object of'these muttered ejaculations having seated 
himself at Mr. Hardangle’s request, announced his busi- 
ness in words which were perfectly audible, though they 
seemed to be whispered rather than uttered aloud. While 
he spoke he kept his eyes searching restlessly about the 
room, until he appeared to have given his particular atten- 
tion to every tack in the floor, and every straying thread 
of cobweb upon the ceiling ; and until Mr. Slack who was 
uprightly watching at the key-hole, involuntarily thrust his 
hand into his pocket to make sure that he was still in safe 
possession of his “bawble,” and hastily congratulated 
himself upon his honesty. 

“This is Mr. Hardangle, I believe,” said the stranger. 
“ My name is Sargeant. In answer to a telegram from his 
son received last night at police headquarters, I am looking 
into the disappearance of one Reginald Moreland. I 
called to see his wife and son this morning, and was in- 
formed that his father was a client of yours.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed the lawyer in an unbelieving voice. 
“He did not return ? ” 

“He did not,” replied the detective. 

“ Can it be possible ! ” cried the man of law, “ His 


/ 


36 WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 

son, as you of course know, last night informed me of 
his father’s strange delay in reaching home, but I surely 
thought that the young man’s fears were ungrounded. 
Excuse me one moment. Being unable through press of 
work to call at the house this morning, I was just send- 
ing my man to make inquiries.” 

Mr. Slack had only time to move noiselessly from his 
stand at the key-hole and begin ostentatiously putting on 
his coat and hat, when his employer entered the waiting- 
room. 

“Make haste, Silas,” he said. “ But instead of inquir- 
ing after the gentleman’s health, bear my sympathy to the 
son and tell him that nothing but professional duty should 
hinder me from seeing him myself.” 

Mr. Slack had overheard more than enough to render 
him very unwilling to depart, yet, with the lawyer’s eye 
upon him, he had no choice, and so set out. 

“Why, this is terrible ! ” continued the lawyer, resuming 
his seat at the desk. “Yes, he was both a client and friend 
of mine. A peculiar man in many ways — a fact which 
offered to me an explanation of his delay last night — but 
at bottom sound and honest-hearted. Have you no theory 
as to his disappearance ? ” 

“You will excuse my answering that question, sir. We 
detectives, you know, are much better at asking questions 
than at answering them. Your client was, I believe, 
last seen in your company.” 

“Yes. As his son may have told you, we went last 
night to watch the behavior of certain tenants of his on 
Water Street, of whose conduct he had heard complaints.” 

Now, though Mr. Sargeant did not in the least doubt 
the word of a lawyer so widely known as Mr. Hardangle, 
through force of habit he could not avoid laying pitfalls 
for him. And so, having been informed by Mr. Moreland’s 
son, half an hour before, that the lawyer had given nine 
o’clock as the hour of the setting out of himself and client, 
he smoothly made mention of the hour of ten. Being 
corrected in this, he merely remarked ; . 


MR. SLACK IS STRICT L Y HONEST. 


37 


“ Oh, yes : I believe it was nine. My memory some- 
times fails me.” Then he added with great truth : “But 
not often.” 

The hour being thus firmly settled, Mr. Sargeant, know- 
ing full well that the two men had been driven to their 
destination, proceeded, with acute forgetfulness, to sug- 
gest that the walk to Water Street must have been rather 
a breezy one. Set straight a second time, he quietly 
observed : 

“You may judge from my remark that young Mr. 
Moreland is too much overwrought to give very correct 
information ; and as for his mother, I was forced to see 
her in bed. I should have saved myself trouble by com- 
ing to you at first. You were, I believe, engaged in your 
observations until about midnight, when the cab called 
for you by agreement at Jerry’s little Bible-house.” 

“All wrong, all wrong,” replied the man of law. “We 
dismissed the cab at McAuley’s, and walked back, return- 
ing at about eleven o’clock.” 

“Dear me ! ” exclaimed Mr. Sargeant with great seeming 
vexation. “ It is a provoking thing to be misinformed. 
You doubtless had the company of an officer. , Water 
Street after dark is not the quietest spot in the world.” 

“No, we were quite alone. Both being large, power- 
ful men, we felt no fear.” 

“A little dangerous. The street is much improved, but 
man-traps as silent as the grave and as hopeless, still 
flourish thereabouts. The street was well-named. The 
crop of criminals find plenty of moisture. But after leav- 
ing Water Street what took place ? ” 

“From there we returned by way of the Battery — he 
leaving me at the foot of the stairs, and I resuming my 
seat at my desk to put an hour on a case which comes on 
before Winslow this morning. ” 

“You saw nothing unusual in Mr. Moreland’s actions ? ” 

“ Nothing whatever. He was, as I have said, an odd 
man, but I noticed nothing which indicated that he was 
not altogether himself/' 


38 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Upon leaving you he started to walk up-town ? ” 

“ He did ; and I then had no further thought of him 
until, as I was nearing home, his son dashed suddenly 
upon me with the strange news. I wish now that I had 
followed my first inclination and gone to his house to 
offer my assistance to his son. But I cannot believe that 
my client will not put in an appearance to-day. If I could, 
I fear my case would fare badly enough at court this 
morning.” 

“ I am sorry under the circumstances to take more of 
your time, sir, but 1 shall be forced to ask you to describe 
the man who drove you, and tell me where you hired 
him.” 

“You fellows suspect everybody ! ” exclaimed the man 
of law with a slight smile, which, however, did not affect 
the one self-contained expression of his face. “I saw the 
man crossing Broadway at the Post-office yesterday noon. 
I did not notice him particularly, but I think he was a man 
of medium height, rather fleshy, and dressed in a long, 
well-worn, rusty-brown overcoat. He had, as I remember, 
a smooth, round, jolly, red face — not at all a countenance 
for dark deeds. ” 

“No,” said Mr. Sargeant absently. “You know noth- 
ing more definite about him ? — his number, the color of 
his horse ? ” 

“ I really do not.” 

“Then I need trouble you no longer, sir. I bid you 
good-morning. ” 

“Good-morning, Mr. Sargeant. I hope and pray that, 
if the worst prove true, your search may be successful. 
Good-morning. ” 

The detective started up-town on leaving the lawyer’s 
office, and was soon lost amid the hurrying throngs that 
filled the streets. In the course of the morning he re- 
appeared near the foot of East Twenty-sixth Street, and 
wended his way toward the building in which lay the city’s 
unknown dead. He nodded knowingly to the man at 
the desk, and passed in to examine all that was left of the 


MR. SLACK IS STRICT L V HONEST. 


39 


poor unfortunates whose miserable span of life was thus 
rounded by a miserable sleep. Ah, dead-house, what 
pitiful ways converge at thy doors ! Some sweet and 
green with breath of summer at the start ; some dank and 
dismal all the sad, sad way. The disappointments of 
life's dream — disappointments too hard for the frail frames 
on which they fell — have brought thee many a sightless 
guest. Hearts born in a dark realm of despair have 
run their brief despairing course straight to the dark, cold 
river-waters and to thee. Souls sent into this world to 
test our love, have sought it in vain — but not thee. Thou 
art Crime’s back-door, through which she rudely hustles 
her heart- weary, soul-devastated victims into night, with 
few to pity or seek to save. Mute witness art thou of our 
unconcerned ease and matchless hard-heartedness. 

“A tough bird brought to book at last,” remarked the 
detective, reappearing after his inspection. “I didn’t 
suppose water would drown him.” 

“Oh, Bags?” replied the keeper. “Followed the 
water one night too long. Picked up by tug Ben Wilson, 
this morning in the East, a few hundred feet off the battery. 
Dressed for some deep game. Anything up ? ” 

“There may be,” was Mr. Sargeant’s safe reply, as he 
walked away with a clew twinkling knowingly in his 
eyes. 


40 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE SIDE POCKET. 

When Silas Slack returned from his errand he found the 
office locked and deserted. Here he spent the remainder 
of the day, his sole labor being profuse explanations of the 
lawyer’s absence, and as it grew dark, having completed to 
his own satisfaction another honest day’s work, started for 
home. Contrary to his usual practice, he did not take with 
him his employers Tribune , but on the way purchased an 
evening paper. So unwonted an occurrence, together 
with the rapid gait at which he walked when once he had 
the publication safely tucked under his arm, afforded un- 
doubted evidence that no ordinary topic was occupying 
his mind ; as did also the avidity with which he devoured 
that portion of the news which related to the disappearance 
of his employer’s late client, Reginald Moreland. He had 
just completed his reading, when his wife announced din- 
ner ; whereupon Mr. Slack placed his chair at the head of 
the table and gathered his family about him. The one 
theme of his loquacity this evening was honesty, and the 
first, middle, and last points of it were his own honesty. 
Mrs. Slack, however, who was not a stranger to her 
husband’s ways, immediately formed the uncharitable 
judgment that he had been guilty of sharp practice of 
some sort, though she prudently kept her opinion to her- 
self. 

“And why, ’’said Mr. Slack, as he shoved back his plate 
after supper, “why do I so mortally despise dishonesty? 
Why, Paulina, and my dears, if not because it is despicable ? 
The honest man who works all day for his living 
and gains his bread by the sweat of his brow, how can 
he help despising the rogue who, too lazy to work, fraud- 


THE SIDE POCKET. 


41 


ulently wins for himself needed food and raiment. And 
why,” he continued, rising from the table and preparing to 
go out, “are honesty’s mandates the guide and chart by 
which I steer my vessel along life’s rugged pathway ? 
Because she smiles upon her worshipers, and exalts them 
by unexpected blessings. This very day, Paulina, For- 
tune threw in my way a rare favor. I feared at first to 
seize it ; but at the last I saw my way clear to stretch 
forth my hand and clutch it. And what cleared my way ? 
Honesty. And now, Paulina, before Igo, I must say one 
thing more. The tables are turning — the spills are be- 
ginning. The poor and down-trodden will ere long receive 
their full revenge. A noted money-bag, a veritable gold- 
bug has been ignominiously spilled ! Good-bye, my dears. ” 
A five-minutes’ walk brought Mr. Slack within the con- 
genial doors of the Side Pocket — not congenial to you or 
me, reader, but to Silas Slack and the motley crowd that 
had gathered within it, as a safe shelter from the driving 
rain which was amply fulfilling the bleak prophecy of the 
morning. The inmates of the place were seated in a circle 
around the cheering warmth of a stove that occupied a 
sand-box in the centre of the saloon. The stove had once 
been painted white, but owing to the quantities of tobacco 
chewed by the frequenters of the Pocket, it had at this 
time a very uncleanly and streaked appearance. In shape 
it gave the impression of two large bells standing one upon 
the other, rim to rim. Not cathedral bells, surely, to call 
all weary mortals to rest and worship ; not Christmas bells 
to ring out to the sky tidings of peace and good-will ; not 
the bells in the steeples to toll off the flying hours of the 
night. No, these bells if they ever had been put to the 
use which their form suggested, must have had a very dis- 
tinctive function. Perhaps in slow and funereal beats they 
rang the knell of the Pocket’s victims — broken hearts, 
ruined homes, passing souls : souls passing out of dark- 
ness into night ; homes devastated, the abiding places of 
pale, sad-eyed women, and wan, starving children ; hearts 
of men, women, and children, broken, broken, broken ! 


42 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


Whether this were true or not, evidently made no manner 
of difference to the circle that were basking in the warmth of 
the fire, for they hugged the stove in a very friendly manner 
that they might dry their garments wet with the chill 
November rain. In consequence, the air was heavily 
charged with a sad mixture of steamy odors arising from 
coats and vests old and filthy and torn ; from pantaloons 
bedraggled and frayed into rotting strings at the bottom ; 
and, w r orse than all, odors from the wearers of these gar- 
ments, by whom water either for drinking or cleansing, 
was esteemed a natural enemy sedulously to be avoided. 
How it came to pass that a man of Mr. Slack’s virtue found 
fellowship with this low-browed crew in which every 
countenance was marred by vice and crime, is a problem 
that must be left to the psychologists ; but sure it is that, 
having taken a small drink at the bar as a sort of initiation 
fee, the man of strict integrity drew a stool into the favored 
circle with a very much acquainted air. 

“ Woll, Honisty,” grunted Mike the Kid, thrusting his 
great quid close into one cheek, to allow his tongue the 
freedom of his mouth, “ yer coat-tails doan’t often miss thur 
way, hey? Wan moight allow as the leetle burdie in the 
hoam-nest warn’t so chipper a warbler as she moight be, 
from the way ye manage to lave her sasiety ivery night 
for that of the Pawket — long may she wave ! It’s a bit of 
a nawsty noight out. ” 

“Right bad and nasty, right bad and nasty,” repeated 
Mr. Slack, spreading his hands to the genial warmth. 
“Still, the more stormy the wave, the more pleasing and 
snug the harbor. Where’s Jakey ? ” 

“Hain’t you heerd that?” cried Billy the Tough, ex- 
pectorating a disgusting quantity of tobacco-juice into the 
sand-box in which the stove stood, and drawing the back 
of his hand with a juicy inhalation slowly across his 
mouth. “Jakey won’t show up here for many a long 
night, I’m thinkin’. He got into a muss with his old 
woman last night, and bein’ a good deal in, he drew his 
gun from his pocket and tried to fill her with lead. I dunno 


THE SIDE POCKET. * 


43 

whether he done her or not, but leastways the cops turned 
the cuff on him.” 

“Too bad for Jakey, too bad ! ” responded Mr. Slack in 
a feeling pipe. “ Honesty is the best policy.” 

“ Now don’t you begin that chaff again, Lawyer,” mut- 
tered “Horrible ” Joe. “I’m sick of it, and I reckon as 
there’s others besides Jakey as would be behind the bars 
if they had their dues. I ain’t forgot about that time I 
ketched you by the river with that kid, you want to 
recollect ! ” 

“Oh, well, well, ” replied Mr. Slack, evidently not want- 
ing to recollect, and not relishing his companion’s dark 
hint, “ don’t let’s get mad, Joe.” 

“No, we’d better not,” rejoined Joe. “You wouldn’t 
be no more to lick than a hen-sparrer. Your muscle all 
goes out in wind.” 

“I say, Lawyer,” interrupted Mike, “I ’low as ye heve 
heerd the oother nooze what some of our boys heve been 
up to ? ” 

“Him !” broke in Molly the Crook. “Dashed if he 
has : Lawyers never hears nothin’. Takes them all the 
time to talk.” 

Mr. Slack inquired whether the news was anything 
unusual. 

“ Summat so, Lawyer,” replied Mike. “But I allowed 
as bein’ he war in your office at last accounts, you must 
heve heerd more about it than Dan theer” — pointing to 
the bar-tender — *“ could foind in the papers. It’s down 
theer how as a rich wan from the Av’nue war in your office 
last noight, and how he war nabbed on the way hoam and 
more nor likely had his neck slit or war set afloat for a 
midnoight sail down the river. So ye hadn’t heerd it ? ” 

“Well,” replied Mr. Slack, “I can’t say that I heard it, 
but I did read something of it in the paper to-night. And 
I declare that we poor ones will get our day some time, 
and I wish in my heart that all the grinders were as 
well out of the way as Reginald Moreland.” 

“Who’s clackin’ about Reginald Moreland, now?” 


44 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


growled a tall, raw-boned late-comer, making his way to 
the bar and laying down three cents for whiskey. “ Who 
is, I say ? ” 

“ Holloa ! ” cried the Kid. “ Durned if you hain’t able 
to crawl about yit, Shadder. And up to the toimes in all 
useful knawledge too. Who’s a-talkin’ ? Why, who but 
the Lawyer of coorse.” 

“ Now, see here, Apartment,” said the new-comer, seat- 
ing himself by the fire and fixing an ominous eye upon Mr. 
Slack, “Shadder and you have always been friends, hain’t 
yer ? ” 

“I trust we have, Shadow,” squeaked the little man 
meekly. 

“ Yes. And that notwithstandin’ the fact that, at times, 
yer do git a little uppish. But I am jest a-tellin’ you, that 
if we’re goin’ to be friends much longer, yer want to shet 
right up about old Moreland. D’yer hear? ” 

A look of sudden attention spread over the circle of faces 
about the stove, as these words fell from the lips of one 
whom they all acknowledged their easy superior in mat- 
ters of crime, and for whom they entertained a feeling 
which might be styled “down-town veneration.” Mr. 
Slack wisely venturing no further reply to the ruffian’s 
words than a mumbled wish that they might always be on 
good terms at any cost, Shadow repeated his last injunction. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ yer want to keep yer head tight shet 
about him. And this,” he continued, “is my terms to the 
hull of you. Cause why ? First : I say so. And second : 
You see as Bags hain’t with me to-night ? ” 

They all had noticed it. 

“Well, he hain’t goin’ to be with me no more. He 
hain’t goin’ to have no more swipes with us nor nobody. 
Where is he ? Lyin’ with his toes turned up on the mar- 
bles at the foot of Twenty-sixth. Yes, that’s where he 
is. The old boy has fetched up stiff at last. Bags is done, 
and afore we leave we’ll drink to him. I hain’t been his 
pardner long — the cops hain’t ever caught us together yet 
— but I have know’d him long enough as a friend, to know 


THE SIDE POCKET. 


45 


that he war an ornyment to the perfesh. But now you’re 
a-askin’ yerselves what all this means, and why I’m so 
tender about old Moreland’s bein’ spouted about. Well, 
that’s jest what I’m a-comin’ to. It war this way : I war 
a-askin’ Bags if it war river fur last night. He said, no, 
he had other game afoot. I wanted to know war I in it. 
He said wewar pardners on the water but not on the land. 
Well, war he a-goin’ to tell me the job ? He hadn’t no ob- 
jections to do that. He war in fur somethin’ spick-and- 
span new. If it worked we could both have a hitch at it. 
He war goin’ to tog up fur a blue-coat, and go round to 
the saloons like a new cop and git a cart-wheel or two and 
plenty of free drinks for pledging himself to keep mum in 
his new appintment. Well, I follered the water all fur 
nothin’, and along about midnight when I had got back 
and war walkin’ down South Street, I seed what I took to 
be a cop and a gold-bug cornin’ towards me ; but when 
we got nigher, dashed if it warn’t Bags in his new togs ! 
Of course I warn’t goin’ to spile no fees, so I walked on 
by and made not to see ’em. This mornin’, Bags not 
turnin’ up I began to have my suspects that he had been 
nabbed at his tricks, and about noon I called round to a 
station or two, but they hadn’t heered about him or his 
togs. Well, things didn’t look jest right, and when this 
evenin’ the boys came a-blowin’ up their papers with the 
disappearance of one Moreland, I let on to myself that that 
war Bags’s man. So I skeered a paper off of one of the 
little devils, and afore I war done with it I found I war 
right. And what did I see right below the other business, 
but that a man who the police had said war Bags alias 
Soper, w r ar picked up by a tug this mornin’ all dressed up 
in his blues, and brought to Twenty-sixth ! By dash ! but 
it did make me feel queer to think of him lyin’ there all 
washed and stiff. How he come to his shrouds lays over 
me ; but there he is and I allow as it war through that old 
Moreland fool somehow. So that’s the reason of my not 
wantin’ him to be clacked about ; and I say, Lawyer, if 
yer make the thing the staple of yer gab, I’ll ” 


46 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


But Shadow did not finish his threat. A tap on his 
shoulder of a certain well-known type, turned him around 
with a start ; and at the same instant the whole company 
became aware that a man of a keen, you-can’t-fool-me 
aspect, had, they knew not when, entered the Pocket as a 
listener to Shadow’s recital. Mr. Slack recognising the 
apparition muttered : “Cat, fox, flatty ! ” Billy and Mike 
recognized it, too, as also did Shadow. 

“ I know you, don’t I ? ” said the man, looking hard and 
meaningly into Shadow’s eyes. 

“Whatifyer do!” growled Shadow, trying to evade 
the gaze. 

“And you know me, don’t you? ” the man continued, 
not once removing his penetrating eye from Shadow’s 
face. 

“ Don’t care if yer do,” muttered the outlaw. 

“Don’t, hey? Well, why should you? But perhaps 
you do respect me enough to let me tell you what a 
precious rascal you are. What a tall yarn you’ve been 
reeling off, haven’t you, now ? I’m really quite obliged 
to you for letting me know that you have taken to the 
water — it may be useful. What good luck I had to strike 
this saloon first ! You’re quite a literary man, ain’t you, 
with your yarns and your newspaper reading. I declare, 
I’d just like nothing better than to hear you read a little. 
Why, here’s a paper in my pocket. Will you be so oblig- 
ing as to give us a little snatch ? Halloa ! there’s the 
little lawyer. I saw you this morning, didn’t I? You 
didn’t know I expected rather to see you to-night, did you ? 
Shadow has spoken pretty sharply to you. Wouldn’t you 
like to hear him read? he can do it so well, you know.” 

Mr. Slack found honesty compelling him to affirm that 
it was quite immaterial to him whether Shadow read or 
was silent. However, this did not seem in the least to 
chill the ardor of detective Sargeant, and he handed 
Shadow the paper and pressed him to read. If he was 
surprised when that malefactor grumblingly proceeded to 
do so, he evinced no marks of surprise ; but he was very 


THE SIDE POCKET. 


47 

easily satiated for a man who had professed such eager- 
ness to sit as a listener at the readers feet. 

“There,” he said, when Shadow had finished a line or 
two, ‘ ‘ I’m sure we’re all obliged to you for your accommo- 
dation : you do it even better than I had supposed. Yes, 
you are literary. And literary people have such power of 
invention that it’s always interesting to hear them talk, 
you know. Now, let me ask you, how it is that I saw 
you and Bags together last night, both dressed in officers’ 
blues ? You’ve got such ability at inventing, perhaps you 
can make that fact hitch with the nice little story you’ve 
been telling us all here to-night. For we were all here, 
you know.” 

It was quite in vain that the keen-eyed officer scanned 
the desperate features before him : to discover evidence 
of wincing under this insinuation : not a single flash of 
fear or astonishment varied their sullen, dogged cast. 
Shadow was not unacquainted with the “ tricks of the 
trade,” and was too old a bird to be so easily taken with 
chaff. 

“There hain’t no use of yer playin’ bluff! ” he growled. 
“If we warn’t together, we warn’t — and that’s the hull 
of it.” 

“You’re logical, too, ain’t you?” blandly continued 
the representative of justice. “Two and two make four 
couldn’t be more so. I admire logic. Indeed, I think so 
well of it, that I have a good mind to show all these good- 
looking fellows here to what an extent it can be used. 
Now, if you didn’t get any spoils last night along with 
Bags, you naturally and logically can’t have any about 
you now’. Perhaps you wouldn’t object — being so logical 
— to just letting me go through your pockets, for the sake 
of logic, you know. ” 

“ Perhaps I would though ! ” snarled Shadow. . 

“But then, inasmuch as I know you so well, I suppose 
you will let me,” winningly remarked Mr. Sargeant. 
“Just as a friend of long acquaintance, and in the inter- 
ests of logic, you know. ” 


48 


WHERE THE TIDES A/EE T. 


And without more ceremony, the detective ran through 
Shadow’s rags, in a familiar if not exceedingly friendly 
manner, and with a deftness which thoroughly convinced 
Mr. Slack that the little jeweled serpent in his own 
pocket, had come to life and begun to sting. 

When detective Sargeant left the saloon after a fruitless 
quest, Shadow was the recipient of many cordial congrat- 
ulations for the eminently fitting manner in which he had 
conducted himself through his ordeal, while Billy the 
Tough vouchsafed to consider him a proper companion 
for the crookedest cracksman that ever handled a jimmy. 
It still rained outside and it was still very warm and com- 
fortable inside. As was natural, therefore, the evening in 
the Pocket was rather protracted. After the detective’s 
departure, Shadow, as he had promised, stood treat to 
Bags’s memory and it was not long before each article in 
the pocket was drinking to its own private satisfaction. 
About midnight, Shadow signifying his intention to 
depart, the Kid vehemently proposed: “Bags, and a 
plisant noight’s slape to him on his new bed” — a toast 
which, from the hilarious manner of its reception, was 
considered the best hit of the evening. After it Shadow 
departed, making his way in a very zigzag manner to his 
lodgings. As he entered them, a stealthy individual who 
had very much the appearance of detective Sargeant 
turned away from the door, muttering : 

“ I rather think that you do tell the truth, but it can do 
no harm to just keep an eye to your studies.” 

In the mean time, the pocketed were making ready to 
take their departure with a fitting finale. Mike had lifted 
Mr. Slack into a chair, as if he had been no heavier than a 
good-sized chip, and amid the clapping of hands and the 
ringing of glasses was demanding from him an oration in 
honor of their deceased associate. Mr. Slack, who always 
prided himself on the exuberance of his own verbiage, 
was quite willing to comply ; and, having reached that 
“ exhilarated state ” beyond which it was his boast never to 
transgress, squeaked quite wildly away for about fivQ 


THE SIDE TO CHET. 


49 


minutes. At the expiration of that time, finding it utterly 
impossible to refrain longer from his favorite theme, he 
began to extol in grandiloquent language, the matchless 
character and superior benefits of perfect integrity. As a 
proof of its transcendent value, he drew his bauble from 
its hiding-place in his pocket, and displayed it to the 
stupid, maudlin gaze of his friends. 

“See ! ” he shrilled, “this is what my superb upright- 
ness brought and presented me. See it sparkle ! Oh, 
honesty, honesty, what crimes are committed in thy ” 

But the intoxicated little orator, having hit upon a sub- 
ject not remarkably adapted to his hearers, was roughly 
pulled down from the contracted platform upon which 
he was tottering, and, as it was now high time for all 
honest people to be in bed, with a parting drink to the 
long life of the unparalleled Pocket, the party broke up. 

In due time Mr. Slack reached his home. He fell down 
twice in ascending the dark, winding stairs of the tene- 
ment, and, stumbling over a chair when he entered his 
narrow apartment, tumbled sprawling into the crib where 
his youngest child lay sleeping, inhaling filth with every 
breath. Little Jim, thus rudely disturbed, awoke with a 
howl, and continued howling, much to his fuddled father’s 
discomfort, until Mrs. Slack was forced to crawl, half 
asleep, from her bed. In steering her way where pas- 
sage was difficult in the light of day and with eyes wide 
open, the poor woman not unnaturally trod upon the re- 
cumbent form of her son Mike, who was sleeping comfort- 
ably upon the floor, directly in her course. His angry pro- 
test against such treatment, conjoined with the howling of 
his small brother and the helpless, tipsy attempts at soothing 
in which his father was engaged, soon aroused the remain- 
ing members of the family, and a general hubbub ensued 
in the darkness. However, after a long search for a match, 
light was thrown upon the animated scene, and Mrs. 
Slack had again lulled her youngest to sleep and pacified 
the irate Mike, when, at the very moment peace was return- 
ing to resume her gentle reign, Mr. Slack, wishing to assure 
4 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


5 ° 

himself that he was still possessed of his much-loved 
treasure, thrust his hand into his pocket. The button was 
gone ! In vain did the distressed man, bitterly calling to 
mind the acute apprehensions of which his brief owner- 
ship of the little trinket had been the cause, fumble through 
all his pockets again and again. In vain did he look care- 
fully up and down the dingy stairs. In vain did he again 
arouse little Jim from his new-found rest, in ascertaining 
that the button had not fallen into the crib. And quite in 
vain would be the attempt to describe the scene of utter dis- 
order and discomfort which followed. Suffice it to say, that 
some time before the lagging sun could muster sufficient 
courage to forsake its luxurious couch in eastern lands, 
the family of honest Mr. Silas Slack had fallen into repose. 


BELOW STALES. 


5 1 


CHAPTER VI. 

BELOW STAIRS. 

It was to no purpose that detective Sargeant kept an 
almost continuous eye upon Shadow : he could not con- 
nect him with the crime. He therefore reported at head- 
quarters that Reginald Moreland had come to his end at 
the hands of one “ Bags,” alias Soper, and added to the 
story which he had obtained from Shadow at the Side 
Pocket, the conjecture that in an attempted robbery along 
the water-front, both men had fallen into the river and 
been drowned, the assailant’s body alone floating because 
of the small life-preserver which he wore and probably 
made a habit of wearing. 

This theory was well received at headquarters, but did 
little to assist the bereaved wife to recover from the appal- 
ling shock which her delicate nature had received. It 
seemed to have smothered completely the small spark of 
life which for long had been struggling for existence. 
She never rose from the bed on which she had been pros- 
trated, and one day when the nurse whispered to the 
despairing son that the end was near he could, not be sur- 
prised. Thus, almost without warning, Robert Moreland 
was robbed of father and mother and left desolate. But 
even such grief as his added no more hours to the passing 
days than their accustomed twenty-four, and days passed 
into weeks, and weeks into months. Winter surrendered 
the throne of the world to its gentle queen, and finally 
June burst forth in all its fullness of summer glory. There 
were not wanting those who found fault, but the most, 
realizing Robert’s lonely position, felt it to be quite justifi- 
able, when, on the rarest day in the month, Philip Mait- 
land officiated at a very quiet wedding in his mother’s 


5 2 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


home, and there started on their life-journey a very happy, 
devoted pair. 

Upon a certain evening not long after Robert Moreland 
and his young wife had returned from their wedding jour- 
ney, and taken up their abode in the old Moreland home, 
Jeremiah Hardangle was seated at his dinner in his capa- 
cious dining-room. Mr. Hardangle was a bachelor and 
he was eatings alone. What a face he had ! Look at it 
once, you must look again and find your eyes irresistibly 
riveted there. There was such power in it — such a mas- 
terful expression of mental grasp and energy. How cool 
his ridged brow looked ! How firmly his lips closed ! 
What a piercing glance lighted his calculating gray eye ! 
The breath of June was softly stealing in at the casement, 
but, as long as the lawyer sat there, the room seemed chill. 
There was no heart in his keen countenance. Not a, 
single warm emotion had made a line on his face. Where 
Lawyer Hardangle came, there also a withering frost 
blew its icy breath. Even the inanimate objects with 
which he had surrounded himself in his own home, ap- 
peared to have fallen a prey to his emotionless, constrain- 
ing spirit, and were stiff and cheerless. 

Mrs. Molly Humstone was the lawyer’s housekeeper. 
She was one of the few beings who escaped in a measure 
his congealing influence, and who refused to accept a 
body of ice in lieu of the warm flesh and blood to which 
she naturally had grown attached in a life of forty-five 
years. She was blunt and honest, and had a decided 
tendency to stoutness. For the most part her character- 
istics hit the lawyer’s mood, and he was accustomed to 
unbend somewhat in her presence. Her inseparable com- 
panion and chosen confidant was a green-eyed gray cat 
she called Mary. These two now presented themselves 
before the man of law, the former bearing her master’s tea, 
the latter demurely following. 

“Well, Mistress Moll,” he said, as the pair reached the 
table, “how has everything gone to-day?” 

“ Everything has gone completely, sir, completely,” 


BELOW STAIRS. 


53 

rejoined Molly Humstone, in a good, round voice. “Shall 
I pour your tea now, sir ? ” 

“ How is it as to strength, Molly ? ” 

“Its got a good smack to it, sir. It's been steeping 
full ten minutes, and the little yellow Chinese never cooks 
theirs a bit. They know. You started drinking your tea 
stronger last November, and Mary and me’s been moving 
up inch by inch from the five-minute we used to give you, 
till now you must have nothing but fifteen-minute. Ain’t 
that so, lady ? ” 

The old gray knowingly winked her eyes in response, 
and her mistress reiterated her remark. 

“Yes,” she said, “of course it is. Nothing in the 
world but fifteen-minute.” 

“Well, Moll,” rejoined the lawyer in a tone which ad- 
mitted of no reply, “ if you and Mary will try to make it 
agreeable, I’ll have it on a few moments longer : I’ve got 
to be busy to-night. ” 

When Molly returned she found the lawyer already at 
work. While he was mechanically eating, he was very 
unmechanically reading from a document spread out 
upon the table at his left hand. The document was in 
his own handwriting, and bore in large letters at the top, 
the words : 

“The Last Will and Testament of Reginald Moreland.” 

“ It’s strong enough to kill a cat, begging your pardon, 
sir,” said Molly, proceeding to pour the fragrant beverage. 
“It cheers, but when taken in this deep color it in- 
ebriates. ” 

“None too strong, none too strong,” replied the lawyer 
absently, his eyes remaining fixed upon the paper before 
him. 

Molly withdrew to the kitchen, and did not reappear 
until the man of law was ready for his corn-starch and 
cream. Of this dish, however, he took but a few spoon- 
fuls, and then, throwing his napkin unfolded upon the 
table, arose. 

“Ain’t the pudding palatable, sir?” asked Molly, her 


54 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


culinary pride touched by her employer’s reception of her 
dessert. “Ain’t it flavored well, sir?” 

“Very well, Mistress Moll, very well,” replied the 
lawyer, “but I’m not in the humor for sweets to-night. 
They clog the brain.” 

“It’ll take more than that to overcome your fifteen- 
minute,” rejoined Molly, only partially recovered from 
her miff. “ One evil begets another. If you’d be satisfied 
with five-minute, you’d enjoy this starch. Fifteen- 
minute ! ” 

“Molly, Molly,” said the lawyer, as he opened the 
hall-door and stood with one foot on the stairs, “you 
certainly never will be killed for want of entertaining 
strong personal convictions.” Then, closing the door, he 
added to himself, as he passed up the stairs, “Moll’s a 
good one. I’ve let her have her own way and spoiled her 
perhaps in some particulars ; but just let something hap- 
pen that might happen, and Moll would bluff them until 
I was changed into Joe Collins and safely out of the house. 
She’s just contrary enough for that. And then she has, I 
verily believe, a sort of notion that I am rather looking 
her way with a matrimonial eye. Dear, dear ! But the 
idea won’t hurt her usefulness. I’ll encourage it.” 

Mr. Hardangle did not cease his upward journey with 
the first flight of stairs. He mounted a second flight and 
went into his bedroom. Here he drew a bunch of keys 
from his pocket and proceeded to unlock the closet door. 
Entering the closet, he selected another key from the 
bunch and opened the third drawer from the floor. This 
he examined with some care, and finding everything as he 
expected muttered to himself as he relocked it : 

“ It’s just as well on such an evening as this to know 
that everything is all right, even if poor Moll would expire 
of curiosity if she knew I’d been in that locked closet. 
Lawyer Hardangle, allow me to introduce you to Joe 
Collins. I suppose I’d better try the trap, too. ” 

The trap to which the lawyer referred was the trap- 
door in the ceiling of the closet, secured on the inside by 


BELOW STALES. 


55 


two bolts. He climbed up to it upon the projecting handles 
of the column of drawers and drew back the bolts from their 
staples. He then raised the trap from its resting-place 
sufficiently to assure himself that the hinges were in work- 
ing order and that he could, if he so desired, turn it 
entirely out of his way on the attic floor. This accom- 
plished, he slipped the bolts carefully back into their 
places, and left the closet with the muffled ejaculation : 

“Now for it ! ” 

As Mr. Hardangle put on his hat and passed out into 
the street, his injured housekeeper sat down in his chair 
at the table, drew a second chair for her cat, and prepared 
to eat her dinner. She ate in silence and fed gray Mary 
without a word, until both meals were nearly made. 
Then she poured herself a cup of tea, weakened it with hot 
water, and, as she slowly sipped it, addressed her furry 
messmate thus : 

“It ain’t no use, Mary-lady ; it can’t be denied that 
such conduct is quite unendurable after our pains. He 
wasn’t pleased to be pleased with either the tea or the 
pudding. And now, more than all that, unless I’m very 
much mistaken, he’s been up in that locked closet of his. 
Absurd ! Here am I a housekeeper with full responsibility 
for the house’s tidiness, and I haven’t been allowed to go 
into that dirty little den in going on six months. It’s filthy 
and it’s vile, and I know it ! And yet if they think it teases 
me to have them talk about the lawyer being a bachelor 
and looking in the direction of a certain widow of forty- 
five, they’re much mistaken. And if they do it just to hear 
themselves talk, and don’t mean it, they’re much mistaken 
again. I didn’t marry poor Jimmy for nothing. I learned 
the ways of men more by marrying of poor dear Jimmy 
than by all other things I ever did. I hope I didn’t deceive 
him, Mary, but I saw when he came a-courting of me, 
that if he was properly trained and managed he had the 
making of a good husband in him. And so I took him 
rather offish at first, then turned very sweet and yielding but 
came down on him pretty sharp along afterwards. Yes, I 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


56 

learned the ways of men, and he learned something of the 
ways of women, though that’s neither here nor there. The 
point is, that I am really quite convinced that one certain 
male heart is distantly longing to learn from one certain 
individual, more than any old bachelor knows about the 
ways of women. He’ll let me say and do things to him 
which he’d snap any other body’s head off for saying and 
doing. Well, well, more unlikely things have happened. 
Dear me ! there’s a knock at the back-door, and me at 
dinner yet.” 

Mrs. Humstone rose and went to the door. 

“ Why, Josey andDolly ! ” she exclaimed, as the smiling 
faces of that loving pair greeted her from the entry. “ So 
glad to see you ! Mary and I are all alone. Come into 
the dining-room and have a bite, and a drop of tea. I’m 
late — absurdly late to-night. That man will be so irregular. 
Josey, how’s this ? Why ain’t you up behind the old horse ? ” 

“ Well, now, Moll,” replied the jolly cabby, seating him- 
self beside his good-natured wife, “ I’ll tell you. Dolly 
and me — but you tell her, old girl.” 

“Why,” said Dolly, “the way of it is that Josey and 
me have been talking it over, and he has decided to go 
out of the business^ It’s a rough-and-tumble trade, is 
cabbing it. And so Josey is only waiting for somebody to 
buy him out, and he only drives day-times. That’s the 
way of it.” 

“Yes, that’s it, old girl. And what next ? ” 

“Why, next he’s going into the grocery business,” 
proceeded Dolly. “ He’s got his eye on a little store 
in Front Street, and he’s going to start in there. We’ll 
live over the store and have everything snug and tight.” 

“And,” put in Josey, “if there’s anything I can serve 
you and the lawyer with as well as not, why, give us a 
call, you know. And, by the way, sister, how is things 
anyhow ? ” 

“What things, Josey ? ” 

“Yes, indeed, what things, sure enough! Between 
you and boss Hardangle, of course.” 


below stairs. 


57 


“Absurd ! ” exclaimed Molly, with a show of mocking-, 
but inwardly delighted. “Mr. Hardangle has never 
been much of a hand at marrying. We do have a pretty 
good understanding of each other, to be sure, and I am 
the trusted manager of the house, and we could be more 
unsocial without offence — occupying the positions we do. 
But — why, Josey, you must be going daft in your old 
age.” 

“Well, sister,” rejoined Josey, smiling mischievously 
as he saw Molly’s secret pleasure, “ I ain’t no prophet; 
but give me time enough and I can prophesy anything. 
So ten years from now, I’ll feel perfectly safe in foresaying 
that you and the lawyer have been spliced together as 
tight as Doll and me. Hey, old girl ? But let that be 
as it pleases ; we all have our own opinions about it. 
Just now I want to tell you, Moll, something Doll and 
me lit on the other day in putting down a new carpet 
in our bedroom. Well, it was a pretty nice one, and as we 
didn’t care to have it wear out any faster than needful, 
we got out a lot of old papers to lay under it. Now, Doll 
and me ain’t been much readers, and as I was laying 
down one of the papers — but you tell her, old girl.” 

“As he was laying down the paper,” joined in the 
obedient Dolly, “he happened to give a glance at an 
article in which it was put down how one Reginald 
Moreland had been taken one night in a cab to Water 
Street with his friend Lawyer Hardangle, and how he 
hadn’t ever been heard of since.” 

“What did you say !” cried Molly, almost too much 
astonished to speak. “Is that the reason Mr. Moreland 
never comes here to dinner or of an evening, any more ! 
Never been heard of since ! Go on, Dolly ! ” 

“And you mean to say that Jerry never told you any- 
thing about that ! ” exclaimed Josey. “ I’d have sup- 
posed you’d h&ve been the first one to know all about it, 
considering his feelings for you.” 

“No, of course I never heard about it!” rejoined 
Molly. “It’s a shame for him to act so. Of course I 


53 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


didn’t know. If I had, don’t you suppose I’d have told 
you before now ? Go on, Dolly ! ” 

“That’s just what I was going to ask about,” broke 
in Josey, interrupting his wife as she was beginning to 
speak. “I wondered, as soon as I saw it, how it was 
that you had forgotten to tell me such a piece of news. 
So you never heard it ! Well, the first thing Doll knew, I 
looked up from my paper and cried out : Doll, I was in 
that murder ! Of course she didn’t know what I meant, 
and so I had to explain to her a little what I had been 
reading, and how old Doll-horse and me had taken two 


“You mean Mr. Hardangle and Mr. Moreland!” 
broke out the breathless Molly. 

“That’s what I reckon,” replied Josey. “How me 
and Doll-horse had taken two men to Water Street on just 
about the date, as near as I could remember, that was 
put down in the paper ; and how — but you tell, Doll.” 

“That’s all there is,” remarked Dolly, “except that I 
got all worked up and nervous and was sure old Josey 
would be took up, and to calm me down he just grabbed 
me in his arms and said : ‘ Now, old girl, don’t you go 
and get nervy for nothing.’” 

“ It’s a shameful outrage that I haven’t been told this 
before ! ” cried Molly, influenced partially by areal sense 
of bereavement respecting a man who had always shown 
her kindness, and partially from disappointment that Mr. 
Hardangle had not shared his knowledge with her. 

“Yes, that’s just what it is. I used to keep things s from 
James, but I never expected to be treated so myself, and 
I won’t submit — sometime. Dear me ! I’m all of a trem- 
ble to hear such a thing about Mr. Moreland ; and it’s 
come to me so sudden, too. And he’s never been heard 
from since! How is that, Josey? Where did Mr. Hard- 
angle go ? ” 

“Well, now,” answered Josey, “you’re asking me just 
the things I expected you would know more about than I. 


BELOW STALES. 


59 

But I looked up the other papers then, and I found the 
following. ” 

Then the good cabby went on to narrate how the 
men had parted at the lawyer’s office, and all the sub- 
sequent events, so far as he had been able to glean them 
from the newspapers. 

“And weren’t the police put on the case?” asked 
Molly. “ Didn’t they find out anything afterwards ? ” 

For a reply, Mrs. Humstone, received the information 
which all such inquirers received — detective Sargeant’s 
verdict in the matter. 

“And, oh, oh ! ” continued Molly, as her thoughts began 
to collect themselves, “Mrs. Moreland died — no doubt 
of the shock — and I never knew that her husband was 
dead before her. And the son was married — I knew that 
— and I supposing all the time that dear old Mr. Moreland 
was living with them. And only to think that my only 
brother should have driven him to his death ! I ought to 
have been told before.” 

Supper being now ended, the dishes were soon washed 
and set carefully away in the cupboard, and Molly and 
her sister sat down for a good evening’s gossip, while the 
whole-souled cabby, after a long day in the open air, was 
soon snoring a round answer to Mary’s contented purr, 
quite oblivious to the destructive darts which his wife and 
sister were flinging back and forth over his head ; and 
when the evening was over, nobody’s character was one 
whit the sufferer for his honest repose. 


6o 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER VII. 

ABOVE STAIRS. 

From his own door Lawyer Hardangle wended his way 
to that of Robert Moreland. He was admitted to the 
library, shook hands in his coldly-cordial, business-like 
way with the newly-married couple, said he had brought 
his late client’s will as agreed upon, and, with few more 
Words, began to read it in his monotonous legal voice. 

It was a clear and unmistakable exhibition of the last 
wishes of the testator, in regard to the disposal of his va- 
rious properties after his death. A detailed account of 
its provisions would be quite irrelevant. Suffice it to say • 
that the great part of the vast estate was bequeathed to 
Reginald Moreland’s widow and her only son, with the 
immaterial exception of a few hundreds to trusted serv- 
ants here, and as many thousands to indigent relatives 
there ; and with the more material exception of half a 
million which the testator bequeathed to his old friend 
and counselor-at-law, Jeremiah Hardangle. 

“Now, in regard to the provision relating to myself, 
Mr. Moreland,” said the lawyer when he had finished the 
reading, “it was, of course, against my will that it was 
inserted. Your father, however, would not listen to my 
objections, and so at last I submitted to his wish, but only 
because I saw that the easier method by which to accom- 
plish my end, was to let him have his own way, and then, 
when the property came into my hands, to pass it along 
to you and yours. You will therefore be pleased to con- 
sider that provision as made in your favor instead of in 
mine.” 

“I am sure, Mr. Hardangle,” replied Robert Moreland, 
“that I will be pleased to do no such thing. I would not 


ABOVE STATES. 


61 

touch a penny of the bonds, even if I were poor for the 
want of them. Therefore, being very rich without them, 
I certainly shall not. They are not begrudged to you in 
the least, sir, and that you may believe me, I insist that 
you remain my friend and counselor as you were my 
father’s.” 

Lawyer Hardangle seemed considerably surprised at 
this declaration, and after appearing to turn the matter 
over in his mind, he remarked : 

“Your feelings in this matter are, as you can doubtless 
see, a profound surprise to me. I really had no other thought 
than that you would see the whole thing in my light, and 
allow me to return to you what — if I may use the expres- 
sion without offence — one of my old friend’s queer notions 
had bestowed upon me. However, now that you have 
expressed yourself so strongly, I can appreciate your senti- 
ments and am able to understand that I should entertain 
similar ones were I in your case. But, Mr. Moreland, 
you must let your knowledge of your father’s peculiarities 
have just weight with you, and render you willing to re- 
ceive at my hands all but the merest remembrance — such 
as might be left by friend to friend.” 

“Mr. Hardangle,” rejoined Robert Moreland very de- 
cidedly, “I am sure that we both thank you for your deli- 
cacy of feeling in this matter. But, sir, I cannot agree 
with you in the view you take of the reason for your re- 
ceiving so large a remembrance from my father. Your 
friendship was, I believe, one of the sincerest joys of his 
life, as your opinion on any matter of law or business was 
his final rule of action. No, sir ; when the impulsive and 
grateful disposition of the man are considered in the light 
of his deep regard for yourself, I must say that I see noth- 
ing but the most natural expression of my poor father’s 
love and esteem for you, in the disposition of his property. 
I must, therefore, very firmly and decisively refuse to 
allow for a moment, your very unselfish and high-minded 
request. ” 

“I am sure I thank you, Mr. Moreland,” replied the 


62 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


lawyer, ‘‘for the high opinion of my character which you 
are pleased to express. Nor shall I, knowing you for 
your father’s son, insist upon my request. You speak 
of delicacy of feeling : I am sure none can exceed 
your own in deferring to so late a date the opening 
of the will. His death is now certainly assured. Yes, 
you are very wealthy. By your father’s will, and in 
virtue of your mother’s dying intestate, there are but 
few men in the city who can point to a longer roll of 
assets. Your mother, yourself, and I are mentioned as 
executors of the will. It was executed, as the date shows, 
about six months before your father’s sad disappearance. 
In regard to the witnesses, your father’s action was most 
characteristic. While we were engagedupon it last June, 
my brother-in-law, Matthew Marsh, and his son, Henry 
Marsh, both of Chicago, walked into my office, and a 
little later my brother Marius, who is not unknown to you, 
entered also. The idea occurred to your father that if 
these three would act as witnesses, the whole matter of 
the will might be taken from his hands then and there. 
So strongly did he press the matter that there was nothing 
for it but to accede to his wishes. These three names 
therefore appear in the document. Ten days after the 
will was executed, my brother-in-law and his son were 
crushed to death, as you perhaps remember, on their way 
home ; and on the 28th day of last October, you will rec- 
ollect that my brother was thrown down by one of his 
own trucks, sustaining injuries from which he never re- 
covered. The witnesses are therefore (which is an exceed- 
ingly strange coincidence considering the shortness of the 
time), all dead before my client’s decease. I urged upon 
him to procure other witnesses, and it was his intention 
to do so. His sudden end, however, intercepted his pur- 
pose. But, as I shall have no difficulty in procuring 
twenty men to swear to the signatures, this remarkable 
case of fatality will present no hindrance before the sur- 
rogate. ” 

The matter of the will was soon satisfactorily out of 


ABOVE STAIRS. 


63 


the way. Friendly discussions as to the character of the 
securities in which the young millionaire’s fortune was in- 
vested followed, and the lawyer having named a time for 
Robert to call upon him at his office, bowed himself out 
of the house in the same business-like way in which he 
had entered. After he had gone, Florence Moreland 
turned to her husband and said earnestly : 

“ Robert, was your father such a warm friend of Mr. 
Hardangle ? ” 

“In his way I think he was. He was, you know, a 
man of very great will and individuality, and that perhaps 
prevented his having many friends. Yes, they were as 
warm friends as two such men can be. Why do you ask ? ” 
“Shall I tell you, Robert?” 

“Why, of course. Why not ? ” 

“Well, then, I will. I don’t like Mr. Hardangle ! ” 

“ Don’t like him ! ” 

“No, Robert, I do not.” 

“ You surprise me. To be sure Hardangle is very much 
of a business-man and not much given to demonstrative- 
ness, but I never before heard a word against him. Why 
don’t you like him ? ” 

* “Why, because — because he never changes his expres- 
sion.” 

“Never changes his expression! That’s too deep for 
me, my philosophical little wife. It hasn’t anything to do 
with self-realization or anything like that, has it ? ” 

“Please don’t jest,” returned Florence, “for I am in 
sober earnest. You will say that Mr. Hardangle smiles 
and is as affable as any one ; and yet, to me, his expres- 
sion never changes. I don’t know that I ever noticed it 
so particularly before, but to-night I could notice nothing 
else. Whether he was reading or talking, and even when 
he smiled, it was always the same, stony, self-collected 
look. I never did like people who always seemed to be 
calculating with themselves, while one is engaged in con- 
versation with them, and I never saw any ope who did it 
§0 worryingly as Mr. Hardangle, ” 


64 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


The conversation between Robert and his wife was 
still in progress when the lawyer re-entered his home. He 
encountered Molly in the hall, on her way to bed. 

“Why, Molly, ” he said, with unusual spirit, “ were you 
going off to bed without waiting for me to return? You 
and Mary ought to remember that I’m a bachelor without 
any relatives, and might get tired of living a single exist- 
ence some day. Stranger things have happened.” 

“ Whatever you may mean by your dark law-way of 
talking,” answered Molly, well pleased, as she passed up 
the stairs, “this I do know; that such fifteen-minute as 
that, and such late hours will ruin your nerves and kill 
you before your time. And,” she continued, pausing a 
moment to get breath on the first landing, “Mary and I 
saved that pudding for you, and we’ll give it to you again 
to-morrow night.” 


THE GIRL , , THE MAN, \ AND THE LA WYER. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE GIRL WITH THE BABY, THE MAN WITH THE MONKEY, THE 
LAWYER WITH THE VISOR. 

The day following Lawyer Hardangle’s second attack 
upon Molly’s pudding, the clock on the Tribune tower 
was engaged in a race with the time-piece on the City 
Hall to determine which should first be able to point the 
hour of five. Molly Humstone was returning from an 
errand which had called her down-town. Returning at 
such a rushing hour, what was more natural than that she 
should experience the delights of such an occasion ? De- 
lights they were, however, which to one of Molly’s rather 
cumbrous proportions, were not of a very relaxing order. 
Indeed, her sensations of pleasure seemed to exist in in- 
verse ratio to the number and compactness of the swarm- 
ing fellow-beings which encompassed her on every side. 
As she stepped aside into a less crowded thoroughfare, and 
watched the mad throng go by, she gave voice to some 
pretty strong sentiments, which said in effect that to stay 
any longer in such a mess of over-grown boys, was to 
have herself reduced to a perfect jelly. 

“Talk about corsets!” she continued, addressing a 
poorly-clad and unhappy-appearing young woman who 
chanced to be standing at her side holding a wee babe in 
her arms, “if any proud goose of a woman who is dis- 
satisfied with the size that God has given her, and is so 
uncommon bright as to think she can improve upon the 
form which nature — who is a pretty fair sort of work-girl 
— has bestowed upon her, if any such foolish creature is 
anxious to squeeze herself out of shape in order to crowd 
and pull herself into the one deformity which Fashion has 
decreed the only proper one for that great thing man to 
5 


66 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


fall in love with, let her come down here a few afternoons, 
and she won’t have to imperil her bedstead by hitching 
her laces fast to the posts. I’d like to see myself do that 
for either of my J’s. ” 

“Do you mean you’ve got two men?” asked the girl 
with the baby, turning a pair of great dark eyes upon 
Molly’s flushed countenance. 

“ Do I mean I’ve got two what ! ” cried Molly Humstone. 

“ I thought you said you had two with names beginning 
with J, perhaps Jim and Jerry,” rejoined the girl. “But 
you needn’t get hot over it.” 

“Hot over it! Jim and Jerry!” gasped the widow. 
“How do you know it’s them two? Me have two ! Do 
you suppose I’d look at anybody else, if Jimmy, poor dear, 
wasn’t dead and buried this long time ! What kind of a 
person are you to think of such things? Mercy ! are you 
one of those bad ones what I’ve heard about ? Where do 
you live and where did you get that pretty little baby ? 
It’s yours, anyhow, for it’s got your eyes.” 

“Keep your mouth shut, you nasty old thing ! ” snapped 
the young woman. “Is it your business to go around 
asking the mother of every child you see, where she got 
her baby from ? Oh, there he goes ! ” 

“Who goes? ” asked the rather confused Molly, looking 
towards the passing throng, the sight of some one partic- 
ular individual in which, had brought a momentary, sad 
brightness to the face of her companion. 

“Who’s gone, you better ask!” returned the girl. 
“Come, baby; we’ve got all we came for. I hope you 
won’t be here to-morrow night, old prude, with your J’s. 
If you are, I’ll change to another place.” 

“You queer, bad creature,” thought the virtuous Mrs. 
Humstone, as she slowly walked after the retreating girl 
and took a less crowded thoroughfare home. “ Pretty and 
got a pretty baby, too. Goodness ! I’ve often heard tell 
of such things but I never came so close to one before.” 

Mrs. Humstone had little more than arrived at her des- 
tination, and was just beginning preparations for the even^ 


THE GIRL , THE MAN , , AND THE LA IVYER. 67 

ing meal, when a sharp rapping on one of the panes in the 
front sash, called her eyes quickly to the window. What 
was her surprise, as she turned, to see Mary who had been 
regaling herself with a peaceful nap, leap spitting from 
the casement, and scud into the kitchen, her tail as stout 
as a ship’s hawser. At the same glance, Molly ob- 
served the cause of the energetic rapping. A mischievous 
young monkey was perched on the outer sill, holding in 
his paw a small, round, bright nugget with which he was 
ardently belaboring the glass. Molly gave vent to a slight 
scream as she caught sight of the unexpected apparition, 
and, running to the endangered pane, signified by vigorous 
gesticulations to the young man who held the monkey by 
a rope from the side walk, that the intruder’s presence was 
no longer desired. The owner, a hard, dirty young man 
of perhaps two-and-twenty summers, drew the little fellow 
to him, but motioned Molly to raise the window. He had 
no need to prefer the request, however, for that lady, as 
soon as she saw the monkey safely perched upon his 
master’s shoulder, lifted the sash with a will, and demanded 
what was intended by such a piece of impertinence. 

“Why 1” she exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have had Mary 
suffer such a fright for all the horrid little monkeys in ” 
(Molly’s knowledge of geography and natural history being 
rather limited, and unluckily failing her in the midst of her 
castigation, she was forced to hesitate a moment before 
deciding upon the exact locality) “in — in Hoboken ! ” 

With which good round finish to her righteous rebuke 
Molly seemed perfectly contented. 

The young man on the curb must beg to be excused. 
He had meant no harm : had no intention of frightening 
either cats or women. He only wanted to do a favor. 
He had taken a great liking to the cat which Bumpo had 
disturbed, and thought he could train her to do tricks 
along of Bumpo. What would the lady take for puss ? 
Would twenty-five cents be a consideration worthy of 
notice? Cats were very plenty, he said Almost too 
plenty. Quite a drug on the market. 


63 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Twenty-five cents ! ” fairly shrieked the outraged Molly. 
“Twenty-five cents to let you have my Mary, and take 
her to your dirty den somewhere, and abuse her, and beat 
her ! Go on, go on ! You’ve insulted Mary enough, and 
that’s much the same as insulting the wife of the late 
James Humstone. But I say, hold on ! ” she continued, 
fixing her eye intently upon the young man, as if she had 
made an interesting discovery. “You must be her 
brother : I declare it. You’re as like as two peas. I say, 
do you know whether you’ve got a sister, and whether 
she’s capable of thinking that I could have two ? ” 

“What is it to me whether you’ve got two sisters or 
not?” inquired the young man. “I’m offering you a 
good quarter for a cat. ” 

“Sisters ! ” returned Molly paying no heed to the bid. 
“Who said anything about sisters? What harm would 
there be in having as many sisters as you’d been provided 
with ? No, it wasn’t sisters, it was men. Have you got 
a sister and could she think Molly Humstone would have 
two ? ” 

The youth allowed he had once had a sister. He was 
utterly unable to say whether he was still in possession 
of such a relation or not. He had not been much of a 
fellow to lie around home. But it wasn’t sisters now, it 
was cats. Did the lady think he abused things ? Was he 
cruel to animals ? Just let Bumpo show her the way he 
was taken care of. Would she have a look at the fine 
scarf-pin he wore at his neck — the same thing he had 
tapped on the window with ? That would prove whether 
things were abused or not. 

Without waiting for permission the little beast was 
started on his way. With all his agility, however, he did 
not reach the window before Molly had closed it with a 
crash. The little fellow sat down soberly on the sill, and 
proceeded to divest himself of his “scarf-pin,” and Molly 
summoned sufficient courage to draw near enough to the 
window to examine it. It proved to be a very handsome 
jeweled button, evidently of much value, over whose 


THE GIRL , , THE MAN, AND THE LA WYER. 69 

golden surface a tiny serpent twisted itself into the shape 
of the capital letter W. After Molly had examined it as 
long as she cared, she motioned the young man to recall 
his pet. 

‘ ‘ Where did you get that from ? ” she inquired. 

“Never mind where I got it from. I don’t know as it’s 
anybody’s business to go around and ask every man they 
see with a scarf-pin, where he got it from. Will you or 
won’t you look at a good whole quarter for so common a 
thing as a cat ? ” 

Molly Humstone decisively stated that she would not, 
and the discomfited youth started off declaring that he 
had no further business with “no Humstones, or Beef- 
bones, or whatever outlandish name it was.” 

Mrs. Humstone had agreed with herself to embrace the 
opportunity afforded by Mr. Hardangle’s dinner to bring 
him to account for his conduct in hiding from her all 
knowledge of the dreadful fate which had overtaken 
Reginald Moreland. After the lawyer had come in, there- 
fore, and taken his place at the table, she entered the room 
and said : 

“I’d like to ask you a question, Mr. Hardangle.” 

“ Let us hear it by all means,” returned the man of law. 

“Do you know my brother, Mr. Hardangle? ” 

“ I have not had that pleasure.” 

“Well, he knows you. He’s a cab-driver.” 

At the mention of that word, and by reason of Molly’s 
significant tone and manner, the lawyer’s face became a 
perfect blank. Then he complacently repeated, as if only 
building a step for his housekeeper to place the foot of her 
next remark upon : 

“He is a cab-driver 

“And,” Molly went on, making use of the rising inflec- 
tion, “unless he’s much mistaken, he once drove you in 
his cab.” 

“Yes?” 

“Yes,” continued Molly, “ he is very sure that he took 
you and your friend ’’(Molly grew slower, and slower and 


7 ° 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


more and more replete with hidden significance) “Mr. 
Moreland down to Water Street — on the night — that he, 
poor soul ! — disappeared forever from view ! ” 

Not a muscle in Lawyer Hardangle’s countenance moved. 
His visor was tightly closed. Much to the chagrin of his 
charging foe, he gave no evidence of being even a little 
fluttered. 

“ I see, Molly,” he said, “that you do not like my 
not telling you about Mr. Moreland’s disappearance. 
Well, Mistress Moll, all I’ve got to say is : Stranger things 
have happened” 

Molly felt the keenness of the retort as if it had been a 
pointed weapon, and swept out into the kitchen without 
another word. 

“ That’s the last time I’ll ever mention that subject to 
him, Mary-lady,” she remarked to her gray, as they sat 
down to their evening meal after the lawyer had betaken 
himself to his library. “All men don’t seem to be alike, 
lady. In a word (mark me, lady), some men make good 
husbands — and some men make good wives ! ” 

About half an hour later the lawyer came to the head 
of the stairs, and summoned Mrs. Humstone to attend 
upon him in his library. 

“Sit down, Molly,” he said, laying aside his paper 
very leisurely and motioning his housekeeper to a 
chair. “I want to talk to you. I have felt for some 
time — to come right at the business in hand — that there 
was growing up between us a sort of secret and unex- 
pressed understanding upon a certain subject, of which 
subject I have at times hinted to you that stranger things 
might easily occur.” 

“Well,” rejoined Molly, uneasily, “well, Mr. Hard- 
angle, I’m sure I have no way of determining what you 
mean by your dark way of talking around things ; but of 
one thing I am sure, and that is, that I’d rather have a man 
say nothing at all to me than go hinting and beating about 
bushes, and never saying anything but in hints and beats.” 
“Molly, ’’rejoined the man of law, “I have not foh 


THE GIRL , , THE MAN, \ AND THE LA WYER. 


71 

lowed the law all my life, and been a close observer of 
the strengths and weaknesses of human nature during that 
same period, to sit here now and say that I cannot read 
the inmost feelings of the heart as they stand written 
upon that strange bulletin, the face.” 

“I'm not thinking anything that I should be at all 
ashamed to have Mary know, or anybody else,” stam- 
mered Molly. 

“No, of course you’re not, Moll,” returned the lawyer, 
“I don’t suspect you of it. You’re surely too open to be 
thinking one thing and saying another. No, what you 
are pondering upon is perfectly honorable and very 
natural. It is what women from the time of the fall down 
through all the romances and fairy tales until now, have 
at some period of their lives thought upon no less anx- 
iously than yourself. In other and plainer words, Molly, 
the thoughts of womankind, in a far greater degree than 
those of her opposite in sex, are under the control of her 
heart. And, still more plainly, my ability to read the 
thoughts and intents of the human heart and mind, has 
revealed to me with unfailing accuracy, that for some 
time past, your intellect has been under the sway of your 
affections. Your heart, Molly, has set itself upon a mate. 
It is needless for me to inform you that I am aware that 
said mate is a lawyer ; nor is the mention of names at 
all necessary. All that is needful I now proceed to attend 
to. And first : Said man of law is not displeased to know 
himself the chosen object. Second : It is his intention 
one day to discard the lonely life of a bachelor. Third : 
When he does so, he is determined to share his fortune 
with none other than a certain widow. Fourth : This 
may be next year, or it may be a score of years from the 
present time. Fifth : The will and testament of afore- 
said lawyer will be drawn up in favor of foregoing 
widow, so that in case of the decease of the bachelor, 
the widow will come into possession of the whole of his 
estate. Sixth : There having been no mention of names 
there is no call for demonstrations of any character, ” 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


1 * 

“I am sure I am very grateful,” Molly began, ‘‘and I 
hope ” 

“Moll,” broke in Mr. Hardangle, “I said that there 
was no call for demonstrations of any kind.” 

“But,” persisted Mrs. Humstone, “I feel that this is a 
time (poor, dear James felt it so) when we both ” 

“Molly, it is my wish that nothing more be said to- 
night. I should like to be alone.” And Lawyer Hard- 
angle resumed his evening paper. 


THE CROWDED ONES. 


73 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE CROWDED ONES. 

The glowing, glaring, staring summer days — with what 
mocking extremes do they come laden ! In their right 
hand, for the children of Wealth, smiling blessings and 
sweet promises of rest and renewed life, among the cool 
recesses of shaded mountain-sides, or within reach of the 
invigorating breezes which blow shoreward over the ex- 
panse of the great gray sea. In their left hand, for the 
squalid offspring of Poverty, feverish curses and burning 
prophesies of death — unfortunates, whose only mountain- 
side shall be that which their own rude coffins erect upon 
the deck of the commissioner’s boat, and whose only sea- 
breeze that which shall whisper sighingly over their still 
forms as they take their first and last excursion — to the 
Potter’s Field ! Alas ! poor crowded ones. Born to be 
crowded in life, and now, under the sod, piled shoulder 
to shoulder, one above another — and the grave-diggers 
work overtime ! From baking tenement, from thronged 
hospital, from still morgue, from the dark water’s em- 
brace, and from noisome pest-holes thick with disease, 
hither they come — and the grave-diggers work overtime ! 
Oh, ye pitying angels of Heaven, when ye come forth as 
reapers at the last day, and the abodes of the dead give 
up their hosts, have especial mercy upon those who rise 
from crowded graves ! 

The annual depopulation of the homes of the upper- 
classes was for the most part completed by the time 
Robert Moreland and his young wife returned from their 
bridal tour. Of all those who could show just cause for 
leaving the city for the heated weeks, and sufficient means 


74 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


to afford it, few could surpass Philip Maitland. He had 
lately concluded a course of hard study, and his bank 
account would have rendered many less self-forgetful 
young men both vain and slothful. Yet Philip intrusted 
his mother and two small sisters to the care of Robert 
Moreland and his wife, and refused to accompany them 
to their beautiful summer-home at East Hampton. Upon 
leaving seminary he had put into immediate operation 
a resolve which he had long cherished, to devote his life 
and means to ameliorating the condition of the down- 
trodden and degraded classes that were madly struggling 
for the breath of life about the lowest bases of existence 
in his native city ; and to have deserted his post during 
these glowing, glaring, staring summer-days of death, 
would have been little in keeping with the character of 
Philip Maitland. Philip remained in the city, and these 
days of distress and death saw him daily, often nightly, 
with youthful zeal laboring with his own hands, and 
pouring out his own wealth to alleviate the awful condi- 
tion of the “crowded ones.” And now, as he could not 
have imagined, the seamy side of life began to reveal all 
its hideous features to his yearning eye. One after 
another, the frowzy, drunken, filthy, blear-eyed, represent- 
atives of poverty and crime passed before his astonished 
and outraged sight, until, at times, he was forced to turn 
away from them, from sheer sickness of mind and body. 
That dull content of animal life, begotten of the brute 
existence which they lived, and which rendered his most 
earnest efforts so often unavailing ; that crushed and am- 
bitionless habit of thought which wrote despair on so 
many blank countenances from which all ideas beyond 
the supply of pressing bodily wants had utterly vanished ; 
grimy hands and faces, the natural consequence of a 
shocking scarcity of water and an omnipresent filth ; herds 
of shrieking, half-naked, blotched and pale-faced children 
tumbling at every open door ; young girls, shameless and 
flippant, with one foot already slipping into Hell ; young 
men with restless, brazen faces, seducing and being 


THE CROWDED ONES. 


75 


seduced ; middle-aged men whose loftiest dreams did not 
rise above successful thieving and unlimited whiskey ; 
middle-aged women, foul and unkempt, the mothers and 
trainers of the rising generation of vice ; men and women, 
prematurely old, whose life’s candle, dimly flickering, soon 
burned to the socket by the uncertain drafts of want and 
sin ; and above and below and around everything, stench, 
stench, intolerable stench — all these went to make up the 
environment in which Philip Maitland passed his summer 
days. 

Philip had been acquainted all his life with the annual 
outings of the well-to-do classes : he now was brought 
face to face for the first time with the outings of the poor. 
And very different he found them ! That of the rich con- 
sists in getting out of the city ; that of the poor in getting 
out of their dwellings — the one grand incentive being 
need of the breath of life. Accordingly, as the days went 
on, Philip 'beheld a very sadly interesting sight — the trans- 
fer of the tenement thousands from the inside to the out- 
side of their walls. During the day, this tendency to 
expansion sent women with their babies and ragged 
urchins with their kites, to the flat roofs. Lazy men sought 
the shady corners and low groggeries ; and small armies 
of children of uncertain parentage, beset the gutters and 
wharves like so many rats, where the loss of two or 
three was hardly noted, much less lamented. In the 
evening loud factory girls and half-drunken young men 
put in a licentious claim to their share of top-room, and 
the population of the streets below was variously enter- 
tained by savage fights often ending in bloodshed; by 
angry brawls between rival housewives ; and now and 
again by the sight of some dogged offender brought to his 
senses by nearly losing them under the heavy night-club 
of some stalwart officer of law and order. As bed-time 
drew on, the roofs, in common with doorsteps, window- 
sills and iron balconies, were transformed into promiscu- 
ous sleeping-apartments, vastly preferable to the stifling, 
burning holes within ; although, as a natural outcome of 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


76 

this sort of outing, the shocked and incredulous Philip, 
more than once chanced upon dead babies, dead men, 
dead women, lying mutilated and bloody in his path, 
whose beds had proved too narrow and crowded to hold 
them till morning. Thus casualty followed close upon 
the heels of miasm, and death, a great unseen spectre, 
dealing out poison shafts with implacable and unerring 
fury, brooded everywhere ; until, among all this seething 
mass of humanity there was scarcely a house where there 
was not one dead. 

As to the success of the summer’s labors, it was such as 
a zealous, untiring man could accomplish whose whole 
heart and soul were in his work. By slow degrees, one 
and another began to respond to his uplifting touch ; and 
clearer, more hopeful faces in this alley and that dark lane, 
bore evidence to the faithfulness of his endeavors. But 
such deeds as Philip wrought are in secret, quite unap- 
plauded, and in secret let them remain. We pass on to 
make mention of one trifling incident in which he had 
a share, and which he afterward found was pregnant with 
most unforeseen and staggering results. 

One evening in the latter part of August, as he was 
returning home after a muggy day, his attention was 
caught by a small gathering of excited urchins collected 
about a tiny infant crying upon the doorstep of a battered 
tenement. 

“What’s the matter, children ?” he inquired. 

“A little kid drapped by a walker-one,” cried two or 
three high voices. 

“How long ago ? ” 

“Two, tree min’ts.” 

“ Run after her and see if you can’t overtake her.” 

The little fellows dashed off with a will, but soon after 
returned from a fruitless chase. 

“Clean skipped,” they explained with crestfallen coun- 
tenances. 

“Oh, the dear little think ! ” exclaimed a kindly voice, 
which proceeded from a middle-aged woman, closely 


THE CROWDED ONES. 


77 

veiled, who found the gathering obstructing her passage on 
the sidewalk. “ Where did it come from, sir? ” 

“ The children say it was dropped here,” replied Philip. 

“ Poor little creetur ! ” continued the woman, taking it in 
her arms. “T 11 be mother to you myself, and have you 
for company, for I’m rightly lonely since they’ve gone. 
There, there, don’t cry so ! Why, you has got a cute 
face with you.” 

“Yes, take the child,” said Philip, pleased with the 
woman’s voice and manner, although he could not dis- 
cover her face under her close veil. “And here,” he 
added, offering her two five-dollar bills, “take this to 
help you. I judge from your bundle that you make your 
living by sewing, and cloaks and pants don’t command 
a great price.” 

Could Philip have pushed aside the screening veil he 
would have seen a sudden look of firm resolve spread itself 
over the gentle countenance behind it. 

“You means it well, sir,” she said, motioning back the 
proffered charity. “ Stitchin’ do come plenty low, sir, but 
I never yet took nothink from no one.” 

So saying, she picked up a bundle which she had laid on 
the doorstep, and taking the baby in her arms trudged 
away to her lodgings, while Philip continued his home- 
ward way, thinking. 

“So that’s your game, is it?” muttered a shrill little 
man in very ill-fitting clothes, who had been carefully 
keeping himself out of Philip’s sight on the other side 
of the street during this episode, but was now returning 
from the key-hole of the door through which the woman 
with the child had just passed to her attic home. “So 
that’s your scheme and game, Rachel Underwood ! How 
fortunate I was to have looked you up and followed you 
upon this especial and particular evening. Yesterday or 
to-morrow would have been just one day out of the way 
for the prey. Mag, alias Madame Guillon, the Mother, 
shall know of this. So, ho ! ” 


7 * 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER X. 

A MAD CLIENT. 

If any of the friends and relatives of Reginald Moreland 
were dissatisfied with the manner in which his last will 
and testament disposed of his extensive personal and real 
possessions, Mr. Hardangle, at least, heard no complaints 
indicative of such displeasure. The summer passed for 
Philip Maitland in the slums, and for his kinsmen at the 
shore ; the fall afternoons began to shorten, and the nights 
to slip quickly in after the days ; and still no murmur of 
discontent reached the lawyer’s ears. But Mr. Hardangle’s 
peace was destined to be sorely disturbed. The dull, 
bleak November days were again enveloping everything 
in inhospitable chill, when, upon the very anniversary day 
of Reginald Moreland’s mysterious disappearance, as the 
daylight was fast hurrying away after the departed sun, a 
young woman, who evidently had once been pretty and 
who still would have been pretty, but for the sunken and 
haggard appearance of her cheeks and a certain wild, un- 
natural look burning in her large dark eyes, presented her- 
self to Mr. Silas Slack, in Mr. Hardangle’s waiting-room. 
Her head was uncovered, her dress was tattered, and she 
wore a small red-plaid shawl over her shoulders. Mr. Slack, 
looking upon the restless face before him in the gathering 
dusk, immediately recognized it. 

“And who shall I say wants to see Mr. Hardangle?” 
he suavely inquired. 

“Rachel Underwood,” replied the young woman in a 
half-dazed, half-desperate voice. 

-Mr. Slack having duly announced “Miss Underwood,” 
and the lawyer having replied, “ Ask her to come in,” the 
young woman entered the main office with a quick, nerv- 


A MAD CLIENT i 


79 


ous step, as if she had been fretting under the short delay- 
imposed upon her. Mr. Slack closed the door behind her, 
and dutifully took his stand by the little closet just outside 
of it. He heard the young woman inquire in a high voice 
whether she were addressing Mr. Hardangle, and the law- 
yer assure her that she was. 

“Well, then,” the young woman went on, “what does 
it all mean ? ” 

“What does what mean ? ” asked the lawyer, wondering 
at the strange and abrupt manner of her speech. “Be 
seated and try to speak calmly.” 

“Calmly ! ” cried the young woman, scornfully reject- 
ing the proffered chair. ‘ ‘ Calmly ! I don’t know what you 
say. But I do want to know what it all means ! ” 

“You are very much excited over something,” replied 
the lawyer, beginning to have his suspicions of his ques- 
tioner s mental soundness. “You must try to calm your- 
self and speak intelligently. My time is too precious to 
be wasted.” 

“Well, then, don’t look at me as if you thought I was 
mad, and I will. And I will, and I will — what did you 
ask me?” 

“ I asked you nothing,” replied the man of law, plainly 
seeing that the young woman was mentally unbalanced. 
“I merely said that you must speak so I could understand 
you. You want to know what what means ? ” 

“Of course I did. Why shouldn’t I? And you won’t 
tell me. But you must. (I do feel so queer in my head, 
that I seem to keep forgetting ! I don’t know what’s the 
matter.) Why shouldn’t I ? Why don’t you tell me how 
it is ? He was going to leave it enough to make it a rich 
man or woman, whichever it should be, and there wasn’t 
a word about it. Tell me, tell me, or I shall go mad ! ” 

There was a pitiful pathos in the poor creature’s dis- 
tracted manner, in her broken mind so eagerly endeavor- 
ing to make itself understood, that it must have touched 
with the deepest compassion, a heart susceptible of such 
a sensation ; but had Florence Moreland been watching 


So 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Mr. Hardangle’s countenance,* as he stood looking upon 
the young woman before him, she would have noted with 
a shudder that no slightest expression of inward emotion 
passed upon it save, perhaps, one of curiosity. That his 
visitor was demented he had no doubt ; but that she had 
something to say to him which it might be of importance 
for him to know, he also did not question. He therefore 
sought to assist her to make herself intelligible as well as 
he could. 

“ Now,” he said, slowly, “Miss Underwood, just stop 
where you are, and try again more calmly. Who promised 
to leave money ? ” 

“Why, he did of course. And you won’t tell me how it 
was ! ” 

“You are still uncalmed, Miss Underwood. Who is he?” 

“Who is he? Why, why — let me see. What were we 
talking about ? Oh! Mr. Moreland’s will. Mr. Moreland 
is he. I used to work in his house. How did it happen ? 
How did you get it out of him? Enough money to make 
it rich, and there wasn’t a word about it.” 

“You refer to Reginald Moreland’s will, I suppose,” said 
the lawyer, supremely astonished but outwardly unmoved. 

“Yes, to him that was murdered. You knew it all the 
time. I tell you I’m going mad, mad, mad ! What was I 
going to say ? My head is so queer ! ” 

“You said Mr. Moreland had promised to leave your 
child money,” prompted Mr. Hardangle. “Who and what 
is your child?” 

“I sha’n’t tell you ! He’s mine and I won’t tell any- 
body ! Let me see. Oh, yes. Enough to make it rich. 
How did you get it out of him ? I knew he was going to 
do it — I knew it ! I’m bound to know what it means — if I 
can remember to ask you.” 

“Why should he leave your child money?” asked the 
man of law, quite oblivious to the scene of misery before 
him. 

“That’s my business, not yours!” cried the young 

woman, 


A MAD CLIENT. 81 

“Was the name of your child’s father Robert Moreland? ” 
persisted the lawyer. 

“I tell you I won’t tell ! ” again shrieked the young 
woman. 

“Tell me, then, why you come to me. Did Mr. More- 
land say you were to get your money here? ” 

“ I was to go to him as long as he lived, but he’s dead. 
It was all in the papers. And you got it all for yourself.” 

“Oh, you learned about mein the papers. But after 
he died was he to leave me money to give you as you 
needed it ? ” 

“I didn't say so. I was to go to the son. Stop asking 
me ! ” 

“Why don’t you go to him, then ? ” 

“ I say he’s dead. Stop ! ” 

“No, no, not the father, the son. Why not go to the 
son ? ” 

“ Because you got it out of him, and there’s nothing to 
get. Besides, I don’t want to.” 

“ That’s because he’s the father of your child, I suppose. ” 

“It ain’t ! Stop looking at me as if I was crazy ! Do 
you hear ! If you don’t, I will go mad, and then they’ll 
come and put me in a mad-house. Go away, I say ! I 
won’t go ! Who says I’m mad ? Leave me alone ! ” 

Surely this mournful exhibition must have moved the 
counsellor. But no. He watched the poor thing draw 
herself away into a corner, and wildly endeavor to drive 
from her with extended arms, the phantoms of her own 
disordered mind’s creation ; but if there was any unusual 
expression upon his mask-like countenance, it was one of 
triumph and not of compassion. Astopished and disturbed 
by what he had heard, he quickly seized the opportunity 
which his shrewdness presented to him, and cruelly im- 
proved it. He stepped resolutely toward the cowering 
girl (givingtangible form to her mental fancies), and, grasp- 
ing her roughly by the arm, hissed into her ear : 

.“ Mad-house, mad-house ! Of course they’ll take you ! ” 

“Go away ! ” shrieked the poor victim, vainly struggling 

6 


82 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


to free herself from the lawyers grasp. “I’m not mad ! 
Let me go to my baby ! ” 

“ Let you go to hell!” again hissed the man of law. 
“Mad-house, mad-house ! ” 

The girl trembled and shook in his clutch like a dry leaf 
in an autumn’s gale. He saw that his attempt was a vic- 
tory. Loosening his hold of her arm, he stood a moment 
fiercely menacing her with his powerful eye. Then he 
suddenly changed his front, and spoke to her in a quiet, 
kindly voice. 

“Poor thing ! ” he said. “You’re so mad.” 

“ I’m not ! Go away ! ” returned the young thing, dis- 
concerted by the quick transformation in the lawyer’s 
manner towards her. 

“Yes, yes, very mad,” continued her tormentor, calmly. 
“And it’s too bad for one so young to have to go to a mad- 
house. So young and pretty ! ” 

“ I’m not, I say ! Let me go to my baby ! ” 

“Too, too bad! The little thing can never sen its 
mother any more.” 

“I will go ! Stop holding me with your eyes ! ” 

‘ * But don’t you really think you’re very mad ? ” 

“You know I’m not ! Stop holding me ! ” 

“Then why will you act in such a way that they 
think so and must take you ? ” 

“ I don’t ! I’m not mad ! They sha’n’t take me ! Stop 
holding me ! ” 

Again the lawyer altered his tactics. He suddenly 
reached out his arms and seized the young woman’s 
shrinking shoulders. 

“ Girl ! ” he muttered, “listen to me. You’re not mad, 
you’re only excited. They shall not take you — I won’t let 
them. You’re not mad, but you act so. Listen to me,” 
and he tightened his grasp upon the bony shoulders. “I 
thought you were mad, because you came here and talked 
in such a strange way about Reginald Moreland. They 
thought you were mad, because you came here and talked 
in such a wild way about Reginald Moreland. Listen ! 


A MAD CLIENT. 


83 

If they ever hear you talking in such strange way about 
Reginald Moreland again, they’ll know that you really 
are mad, and they’ll come, and they’ll take you to the 
mad-house, mad-house, mad-house ! ” 

The young woman cowered and trembled, but said 
nothing. The lawyer bent his face down until it almost 
touched hers, and again hoarsely repeated : 

“ If you ever again talk in that strange, wild way about 
Reginald Moreland, they’ll hear you, and they’ll cart you 
off. And then it will be mad-house, mad-house, mad- 
house, until you’re dead and buried ! ” 

“ Let me go ! ” pleaded the young woman. 

"Yes, you shall go. But before you go let me warn 
you once more, that if they ever hear you talking in this 
strange way about Reginald Moreland, it will be mad- 
house, mad-house, mad-house, and it will be mad-house, 
mad-house, mad-house ! ” 

Lawyer Hardangle walked to the door. When he 
opened it he found Mr. Slack quietly looking out of the 
window intently watching the passing throng below. 

“ Silas,” he said, “ will you show this young woman 
down to the street ? ” 

Rachel Underwood quietly accompanied Mr. Slack in 
an absent, bewildered manner. When they had reached 
the bottom of the stairs, her guide turned to her and slyly 
inquired : 

“ Would you give me your address, Miss ? ” 

His charge looked at him a moment in her dazed, unheed- 
ing way, and then brightening a little, replied : 

“The Streets, New York.” 

With which reply, she made her way out into her crowded 
home, muttering : 

“ Mad-house,* mad-house, mad-house ! I feel so queer ! ” 

When Mr. Slack Returned to the office he found his em- 
ployer preparing to leave it for the night. He hurried on 
his own coat and hat, therefore, and prepared to depart also. 

“A poor, crazy girl,” remarked Mr. Hardangle indiffer- 
ently as he locked the door. 


84 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Very light in the head — the upper story,” agreed Mr. 
Slack. 

Mr. Hardangle turned up the street. Mr. Slack returned 
the lawyer’s good-night and turned down the street. As 
he passed along on his h’omeward way, he communed 
thus with himself : 

“ Mister Hardangle, be it known by these presents, 
ladies and gentlemen. Hardangle Esquire. Much re- 
spected. Suspicions ? No end of them. Poor, crazy thing 
is she ? All I hope is that she hasn’t changed her place 
of residence since the time she dropped the kid. I wish 
she would have told me something besides The Streets ; 
though she’ll probaby return soon. I, too, wonder what it 
all means. If the Turner at Law hadn’t spoken his part 
in such a sneaking, low tone, I might have had to wonder 
less ! ” 

While Mr. Slack’s mind was engaged in following out 
this rich vein of reflection, his employer’s thoughts also 
were pursuing the bent given to them by Rachel Under- 
wood’s visit. 

“That was strange. It was terrific! Just what’s the 
truth about it all, I’d give a good deal to know. She was 
as crazy as any loon, but I can’t think she would have 
come to me unless there was something in it. Can that 
something be that young Robert was in her debt ? From 
her manner and her words, I really incline to such an 
opinion. I must try to find out : the knowledge might 
some day prove useful. She worked in the family, that 
might account for Moreland’s promising her money with- 
out any dark deeds, but as I look at it, it only serves to 
strengthen my suspicions. Did he promise her money 
at all ? I rather think he did, and that he meant to have it 
added to the will before he died. Or it may be that she 
went to him for it and he refused, but in her present state of 
mind she believes he agreed to doit. I should have been 
just as well pleased if she hadn’t got me mixed up in her 
crazy notions. For, though she can know nothing about 
the past, and I really would have nothing to fear from her 


A MAD CLIENT. 


85 

demented talk, yet it would not add to my peace of mind 
to imagine her talking. There’s no telling how much she’s 
been saying already, but I’m of the opinion that she won’t 
have much more to say after that mad-house scare. It 
was quite an interesting psychological experiment. You 
conducted yourself well, Jeremiah Hardangle. Robert 
Moreland, with your pretty young wife, have I found out 
your secret ? ” 

“Gone!” muttered Silas Slack, issuing from a high, 
frame tenement which he had entered on his homeward 
way. “Gone! but I will find her. That was a queer 
dose — a queer dose. I will find you, Rachel Underwood. 
I know where your child is, and, if I don’t know what 
it is, I’m exceedingly mistaken. There’s things hidden 
and concealed here which I must probe to the bottom, 
whether my honesty compels me or not. Gone ! — curses 
on the luck ! ” 


86 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER XI. 

HOW MAG CAN BECOME MADAME. 

About seven o’clock of the following evening, Mr. Slack 
was stealing his way up the stairs of a certain battered tene- 
ment. It was the same building from which he was seen 
to issue upon that sultry August evening when the woman 
with the kindly voice and bundle of sewing, took into her 
heart and home the little foundling which Philip Maitland 
had discovered crying upon the doorstep. Creeping to 
the fourth floor of the tenement, he entered a small, public 
apartment, and peered through a crack in the wall into 
the room before him. He maintained this position for 
not more than a minute, and evidently to his complete 
satisfaction, for he glided down into the street again and 
walked away at an unusually brisk pace. The gait at 
which he moved soon brought him to a large, imposing 
mansion, whose brown-stone front and door of oak and 
glass were eminently respectable. He made his way to 
the rear of the house, and, without the ceremony of knock- 
ing, entered the back-door. Within the door he lighted 
upon a number of servant-girls variously employed about 
a spacious kitchen, not one of whom offered the slightest 
objection to his informal entrance. 

“ Madame home? ” he inquired. 

“In the office,” was the reply volunteered by one of 
the girls. 

Toward the office, without more words, Mr. Slack 
directed his steps, and quite unannounced opened the 
office-door and stood before a woman of perhaps thirty- 
five years, who was seated busily writing at a secretary. 

“ Ha, Silas ! I thought it must be you,” said the woman, 
turning her dark face, dark hair, heavy dark eyebrows, and 


HOW MAG CAN BECOME MADAME. 87 

dark, piercing eyes towards Mr. Slack, and speaking in 
a low, not unmusical voice. “Not one of the servants 
would dream of coming to me in such an unceremonious 
manner. Familiarity breeds contempt. But I haven’t 
seen you in quite a dog’s age.” 

“Think again, and see if you’re sure you haven’t,” 
piped Mr. Slack. “Oh, you Mag, you, you’re such a 
proud one ! Think hard now while I lie back in this easy- 
chair, and be sure you haven’t seen and beheld me within 
a week. ” 

“Within a week!” echoed the woman. “Why, I 
haven’t seen you in some months.” 

“Oh, you Mag, you!” exclaimed Mr. Slack again. 
“I'm free to say I don’t relish your pride. I suppose you 
didn’t see me the other day, as I was crossing the 
Avenue ? ” 

“ Why, Silas, of course I didn’t,” replied the woman. 
“You must think my memory is rapidly leaving me. 
Don’t you suppose I’d remember if I’d seen you ? ” 

“Oh, you’re memory’s all right, as many a poor chap 
knows to his grief and sorrow. 'Tain’t your memory 
that’s in fault, nor is it your optical eyes. It’s your pride, 
you Mag. You saw me nodding and smiling at you, well 
enough. But you, perched up in your big turn-out, behind 
your yellow-legged driver, you didn’t want to have those 
others know that I was in your acquaintance. Oh, you 
Mag ! Time was when it was I that had to stoop to notice 
you. Madame Guillon ain’t a very old woman compared 
with Mag Slack. You haven’t got any cause and reason 
to be proud, you Mag ! Don’t the police know you 
though ! Don’t they know what a goer you’ve been ! 
Don’t they know how you’ve climbed up round by round? 
Don’t they know how you’ve been a nurse and a physician 
by turns ? Don’t they know how they’ve taken you up 
as a vagrant ? Don’t they know the shady kind of busi- 
ness you carry on behind your fine curtains, and your 
brass knob? Oh, they know; and they laugh in their 
sleeves when they see how smart you’ve been. But I say, 


88 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


you don’t need to be proud, and I don’t like your high- 
stepping ways. ” 

“ Who sent you here to lecture me ? ” asked Mr. Slack’s 
sister, aroused by her brother’s harsh words. “What if I 
didn’t choose to know you? If you don’t like it, why, 
hang you, you can do the other thing ! Just because you 
and I happen to be foaled in the same hovel is no reason 
why you should come here and tell me nothing I didn’t 
know before. If ) r ou don’t like my high ways, you do 
like my high pay, and, ten to one, you’ve come here for 
more now.” 

“Well, well, Mag,” said Mr. Slack in a mollified voice^ 
“don’t let’s get mad. We’re of too much use to each 
other, you know. Yes, I did come for my pay — honesty 
to my family compelled me. And let me see : you gave 
me ten to watch her when she left, and promised me ten 
now and again, to keep my eye on the child. Well, I’ve 
had my eye on it not as much as an hour ago. She got 
tired of it about three months since, and where she’s 
skipped to, I don’t know. But the child is being cared for 
by — I know -whom. It’s business, you know, to keep the 
exact place to myself, just as it’s yours to keep the father’s 
name to yourself, having wormed it out of her ; though 
I’m another if I don’t guess and imagine who it is.” 

“Keep it to yourself, if you like — I’m sure I don’t care,” 
rejoined Madame Guillon. “No more do I care if you’ve 
found out the father’s name. You know whose favor my 
will is made out in, and you know all too well that I’d 
ship you and give you no more business at this stand, if 
you fooled with him. What I do care to know is whether 
the little brat bids fair to make out to live.” 

“Very fair, very fair; it’s in first-rate hands,” replied 
Mr. Slack. “Good, sober woman. She picked it up a 
few minutes after its mother and parent deposited it upon 
a certain doorstep, all which I took to be a plan and 
scheme of Miss Underwood’s. When you draw upon the 
gentleman remember I come in for my commission. How 
is business nowadays, anyhow, Mag ? ” 


NOW MAG CAiV BECOME MADAME. 89 

‘ ‘ Good, Silas ; never better, ” answered Madame. 4 * The 
police and the parsons combined don’t seem likely to clear 
me out yet awhile. Here’s your ten dollars, Silas. I 
don’t say you haven’t earned it, and I don’t say you 
haven’t earned it easily. You’re likely to get quite a 
number of them, because, being flush, I sha’n’t call on 
this one very soon. I don’t want to scare him too soon. 
He may be a good advertisement for me among the big 
guns. Long head, you see, Silas. They say it’s hard 
times now, outside of the home.” 

“And who says and declares it, says and declares the 
truth,” observed Mr. Slack with some emphasis. “It’s 
the same old story, Maggie : The rich growing richer and 
the poor growing poorer. Oh, Mag, Mag, they are 
grinders every one ! Confound and blast it, Mag, you are 
a shrewd one ! It’s always hard times outside, but never 
inside.” 

“Exactly, Silas, exactly. You’re as right as a lawyer 
when he makes an extra effort to tell a lie — stumbles into 
the truth, you know. Yes, it’s always good times behind 
my fine curtains — and they are fine, Silas, and my pict- 
ures are, too. Art, real art. Perhaps I’m shrewd, and 
perhaps I’m not ; though goodness knows that I’ve been 
through enough in my time to make me as keen as an 
east wind. At any rate, there’s one thing that has no 
‘perhaps ’ in it, and that is my ability to give points to cer- 
tain ones on the proper method of getting on in the world. 
Not to the police, Heaven knows ! And, as to the politi- 
cians, you might as well try to give pointers to the Devil 
himself. And that’s just the word I meant to use. The 
reason it’s never hard times in here is that I was smart 
enough to see and profit by his method. I got into a 
business which was supported by men’s love of pleasure 
and self-indulgence. That’s his trick, and the police and 
the politicians come by it naturally. But the school- 
teachers and the parsons ain’t in it. They don’t give 
men what they want, but what they’re set to give. And 
what’s the result ? Operas, with pretty girls, full : churches, 


9 ° 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


with ugly debts, empty. Ah, Silas, there isn’t a priest in 
the city but would tuck up his sacred robes, if he passed 
me on the street, and avoid me as he would the plague 
— at least, if any one was looking. But let them take my 
advice for a single season, and they’d never own up to 
their best friends what fools they’d been before. But 
we’re in the trick, Silas, so here’s your money. Holloa ! 
there’s the bell. More cash for both of us, perhaps, Silas. 
If you listen at the door, you’ll see how I work them.” 

Madame Guillon turned down the gas in the room 
where she and her brother were seated, and allowing the 
individual whom the maid had admitted to “the little, 
dark room on the left,” sufficient time to find a chair, rose 
and softly glided into the apartment. Mr. Slack, being as 
much of an adept at listening at doors as was consistent 
with his pre-eminent virtue, followed his Parisian sister as 
far as the crack. 

“I am speaking with Madame Guillon ? ” inquired the 
caller. 

Could Mr. Slack believe his ears ! His heart beat high 
with a sudden sense of triumph and secret advantage. 
The voice which made the inquiry was none other than 
that of his respected employer, Jeremiah Hardangle. 
Mr. Slack pressed his ear to the crack that not a single 
word might escape him. 

“You are speaking with none other,” he heard his 
sister make answer. 

“I have then, a particular question to ask you,” the 
man of law remarked. “For the information, I will, of 
course, pay you what is right. Did you ever, to your 
knowledge, have any dealings with any one by the name 
of Robert Moreland ? ” 

“Have I inquired your name, sir? ” 

“You certainly have not, Madame.” 

“Your case is no exception, sir. I may have had deal- 
ings with a hundred men of the name you mention ; but 
if I had, their names were as unknown to me as is your 
own. Why, yours may be Moreland for anything I know 


HOW MAG CAN BECOME MADAME. 


9 1 


to the contrary, and this may all be a game on your part 
to discover whether the privacy which this house boasts 
is merely a vaunt and at the service of a bribe. You may 
know beyond a doubt that I have or have not done busi- 
ness for some Moreland/' 

“What sum would tempt you, madame? ” 

“Five thousand dollars would not be a consideration.” 

“And five hundred would be ten times more than I 
would offer you. I’m sure enough you did, anyway. I 
only wanted to make assurance doubly sure. I shall not 
be seen as I go out ? ” 

Oh ! you house of respectable appearance, how many 
times that inquiry has been made in the little dark room 
on the left ! 

“By none unless by the maid who admitted you, and 
she’s as blind as a bat. I am sure I have no desire to ob- 
serve your appearance. Why should I ? ” 

“ Because you generally like to know the faces of those 
who call on you here, and when I am gone, 'I leave noth- 
ing behind me by which such information can be obtained. 
I bid you good-night.” 

Before Madame Guillon could reply or repel the insinu- 
ating remark, her caller had his hand on the knob and 
was leaving the house, saying within himself : 

“I really don’t need to know positively. In case of 
trouble I could tie his hands with an assumption.” 

“Well, Silas, there wasn’t much money in that for 
either of us, was there ? ” remarked Mr. Slack’s sister, 
turning up the gas again and resuming her seat at the 
secretary. “If all who came to me were upon similar 
errands, it would soon be as hard times inside as outside, 
I’m thinking. ” 

“Of which there seems to be no immediate danger,” 
replied Mr. Slack. “Oh, you Mag, you’re a shrewd 
one ! Your trade don’t hang and depend upon Demo- 
crats or Republicans, Free Trade or Protection. But I 
say, Maggie, that fellow, whoever he was, was on to your 
ways ; hey, Sister Maggie ? And if you didn’t see him 


9 2 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


you know this much about him : you know he’s no milky 
and sappy greenhorn. What ! another bell, Maggie ? ” 

“That’s for me to go upstairs, Silas. I’ve been expect- 
ing it every minute.” 

That night, Madame Guillon, before she locked up 
her secretary, took from it a large blank-book, and, like 
any bookkeeper, hunted out the name of Moreland, and 
made the following entry : 

“November 24. This night a call from a gentleman 
who talked like a lawyer, inquiring whether I had ever 
done any business for a man named Moreland. Silas 
overheard the conversation. ” 


HO IV A CUFF-BUTTON CAN BECOME A BREAST-TIN. 


93 


CHAPTER XII. 

HOW A CUFF-BUTTON CAN BECOME A BREAST-PIN. 

It was Thursday afternoon. Molly Humstone was about 
issuing- from a diminutive Emporium in Front Street over 
whose entrance a sign announced to all that groceries and 
provisions were dispensed within by one J. Applegate. 
As she was taking her leave of her brother and sister, 
however, a fresh customer arrived and interrupted her 
farewell. 

“Good-afternoon, sir,” said the grocer, smiling pleas- 
antly at the new-comer out of the folds of his big white 
duster, as he threw away the match with which he had 
begun lighting the store. “What will it be to-night, sir ? A 
pound of crackers at ten, a loaf of bread at seven, or a bit 
of butter at almost any price ? ” 

“Sir ! ” echoed Mrs. Humstone with a disdainful glance 
at the diminutive customer. “Do you call him sir, 
Josey ! I should say Silas. Is it possible that you come 
here too, Silas ? ” 

“It seems quite possible,” replied Mr. Slack (for it was 
he), with sufficient dignity to make it quite evident that 
he did not relish the flippant manner of Molly’s words. 
“From the appearance I should say it seemed highly 
probable.” 

“If you call it an appearance,” returned Mrs. Humstone, 
scrutinizing Mr. Slack from head to foot. 

“You seem to be acquainted with each other,” ob- 
served Mrs. Applegate in her friendly voice, trying to keep 
things sweet. 

“Why, yes,” rejoined Molly, calling to mind that she 
must deal gently with her brother’s customers, ‘ ‘ we are. 
Silas works in Mr. Hardangle’s office.” 


94 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“I can announce my own affairs when I wish and 
choose / 5 dryly declared Mr. Slack. 

“Certainly," returned Molly, determined not to offend 
against her brother’s interests. “ Perhaps you didn’t know 
that this was my brother, Silas ? ” 

“I had not happened to be aware of it, " replied Mr. 
Slack, betraying no sign of interest in the information. 
“That, I presume, accounts for your bringingyourtongue 
here. If you will permit me, I will hint to you that Mr. 
Hardangle may want his dinner some time before mid- 
night.” 

This cool intimation of neglect of duty on her part, 
from one whom she had disliked more and more, every 
time their common interest in Mr. Hardangle had thrown 
them together, was more than Molly’s punctual pride 
could endure. She quite forgot her brother’s well-being. 

“You outrageous little rat ! ” she cried. “To think of 
your presuming to remind me of my duty in your mean 
little squeak ! To think of it ! As if I was ever half-a- 
minute behind-hand ! Humph ! if it wasn’t that you’re 
such an insignificant little youngster, I’d souse your head 
in that pickle-brine. You ! ” 

Mr. Slack in reply only smiled triumphantly at the 
easy revenge he had obtained. Molly found time to 
recollect herself and said a hasty good-bye. 

Mr. Applegate speedily filled the order which Mr. Slack 
gave, and then inquired if it were all. 

“I should say that it was a great deal — a liberal provi- 
sion,” observed Mr. Slack grandly, by way of reply. 

“Why, yes, to be sure,” assented the grocer, quite 
humbled by his customer’s stately rebuke. “A very nice 
provision. Butter, fourteen ; ham, eighteen ; bread, 
fourteen. Forty-six cents, sir.” 

“ Everything is so high ! ” moaned Mr. Slack, fumbling 
in his pockets. “It takes quite a fortune for every meal, 
especially if one never cramps nor stints those dependent 
on him. There are forty — is that all I’ve got? Oh, no, 
here is yet a nickel. I fear I’m one cent short. I don’t get 


HO IV A CUFF-BUTTON CAN BECOME A BREASTPIN. 95 

paid by my respected employer till the first of the month, 
and I’m run clean dry. Yes, forty-five are all I’ve got.” 

‘‘Oh, never mind,” rejoined the grocer, “never mind 
about the penny : any other time will do.” 

“I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you for your good- 
ness,” rejoined Mr. Slack. “ And,” he continued to him- 
self when he had reached the street, “your goodness is 
none the less goodness because I have and hold five 
dollars in my coat-pocket. But I was perfectly honest 
in saying that I had no more, because Maj^’s five is 
extra — not my daily wages, upon which I am expected to 
have my being. Salary is one thing and extras are a 
thing by themselves.” 

When Josey Applegate blew out the lights in his place 
of business, and sought his wife in her clean little home 
over the store, it was with a smile of unusual breadth and 
meaning upon his jolly face that he sat down beside her 
on the black horsehair sofa, and took one of her hands in 
his. 

“ Did you think I’d forgot ? ” he inquired, widening both 
the smile and its meaning, “did you think I’d forgot 
about this being our wedding-day ? ” 

“Deary me ! ” exclaimed Dolly quite aghast. “It was 
me forgot, Josey — I truly did ! ” 

“Well, there now!” cried Josey. “I was fooled. 
Here I’ve been thinking I saw reproaches in your face 
all day, and that you were waiting to see if I’d forgot it. 
And I supposed you and Molly had had it all over upstairs, 
by yourselves. Well, well, well ! So it was you that 
forgot to be minded of it. ” 

“ I don’t know how it was, I’m sure,” rejoined Dolly 
rather ruefully. “ I never forgot it before. But, Josey,” 
giving the rough hand in her lap a loving squeeze, “it 
ain’t as if I’d forgot what the wedding brought me.” 

“Oh, you old girl ! ” cried Josey, quite affected by this 
affectionate speech. “You ain’t forgot me, hey? Well, 
I reckon not ! It’s gone thirty years to-night, since we 
was hitched together, and we hain’t neither of us balked 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


96 

since. We’ve pulled willing and strong, and you never 
yet said the load was too heavy.” 

“I guess it’s because you’ve took a deal of my share 
of the pulling,” murmured Dolly slowly. 

“And I guess its because, being well-matched, we 
didn’t either of us know much about the load. But if 
anybody’s done more than his share, it’s her share. 
You’ve hauled steady of times when I was feeling a little 
restless and skittish, and kept me right to my place in the 
traces. Oh, you’ve been the making of me, and I ain’t 
ashamed to say it ! ” 

“ I’m thinking that one has done about as much making 
as the other,” replied Dolly, “and if I have made any- 
thing, and it’s stood, it’s because I had a good natural 
foundation to build on.” 

“Oh, you old girl!” cried Josey, “don’t you go a- 
spoiling me with soft words, this late day. But look here, 
Dolly : here’s a little rememberer from your mate. ” 

Saying this, Josey, his face bearing joyful evidence of 
the blessedness of giving, produced from his vest-pocket 
a gold breast-pin bearing upon its face the design of a 
tiny, jeweled serpent coiled into the shape of a capital, 
letter. 

“Why, Josey! How could you ! It’s just a perfect 
beauty ! How could you afford it ? But this letter — this 
W — what does it mean, Josey?” 

“Why, can’t you guess ?” rejoined Josey, evidently in 
the huge enjoyment of some secret jest. W ? Why wed- 
ding of course. ” 

“Now, Josey, you’re making game of me,” protested 
Dolly, beginning to suspect her husband of some harmless 
guile. 

“ Game of you ! ” cried Josey, quite beside himself with 
malevolent delight. “ Moreover, if you turn it around, it 
would make a sort of an M. And don’t that prove it ? W 
for wedding, and M for marriage.” 

Dolly gave a puzzled laugh. 

“Well, well, old girl, not to keep you in the dark any 


HO W A CUFF-BUTTON CAN BECOME A BREAST-FIN 97 

longer,” said Josey, “that W was on the thing when I 
found it. For I did find it and on the day I sold poor old 
Doll. Not that it was a pin then : it was a gentlemans 
sleeve-button, and I had it changed for you. I was going 
through all the cab to make sure I wasn’t leaving a little 
fortune to another man, and there, not on the floor but 
hid under the cloth in the crack where the front meets the 
floor, I found that ornament. I suppose it was kicked in 
there by somebody. And now you see it all, and how I 
agreed with myself to have it made into a pin for your 
wedding-present. ” 

Mrs. Applegate half laughed and half cried, and a very 
pleasant evening’s talk ensued about old days and old 
sorrows. When bedtime came, Dolly remarked, with a 
full-grown tear upon her cheek : 

“I reckon if anything has stood, it was because I had 
a good natural foundation to build upon.” 

And Josey, not wishing to be outdone, replied : 

“ No poor house won’t stand on the best foundation, 
unless it’s well made.” 

7 


9 8 


WHERE TEE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MR. SLACK’S SUSPICIONS. 

Robert Moreland, favored, prosperous, flattered Robert 
Moreland, was the father of the child of poor, unknown, 
pitiable Rachel Underwood ! Silas Slack’s visit to his 
sister had confirmed the suspicion which his position at 
the key-hole of the lawyer’s office had aroused. The 
secret knowledge filled his mean nature with malevolent 
delight, even though his sister’s threat stood in the way 
of his realizing any present benefit from it. But what, 
Mr. Slack asked himself, ought he to think of Mr. Hard- 
angle ? Was Rachel Underwood’s charge against him all 
the fabrication of a deranged intellect ? And why had 
he sought Madame Guillon concerning Robert Moreland? 
That was a low and underhanded piece of business. 

“ I really cannot suspect him,” said Mr. Slack to himself, 
“ and yet there’s no telling. At all events, there are 
some dark doings here which it shall be my endeavor to 
ferret out. And my first step must be to discover the 
whereabouts of Rachel Underwood, as it seems she does 
not intend to return.” 

It was, however, to no purpose that Mr. Slack consumed 
many of the hours which he could call his own in prowl- 
ing about forlorn tenements not fit to be the homes of 
well-bred dogs, and in studying the endless variety of 
countenances exhibited to him on the streets, and in the 
parks. He failed to obtain the information he desired. 

After a month’s futile expenditure of both time and 
strength, his zeal had so far cooled that he resolved to 
make but one more attempt. Christmas-day being a 
recognized holiday in the office of Jeremiah Hardangle, 
Mr. Slack naturally hit upon that day. Accordingly a 


MR. SLACK'S SUSPICIONS. 


99 

bright and early hour of that sacred festival found him at 
breakfast with his family. 

“ Children, ” he was saying, looking magnificently 
over the morning board, with eyes which seemed to 
behold all manner of good things suitable to the character 
of the day spread forth upon it, “which of you can tell me 
by what name this day is popularly known ? ” 

Mr. Slack’s offspring were not blessed with such remark- 
ably keen organs of vision as their father, and being 
compelled to see things as they actually were, they did 
not give evidence of being possessed with that spirit of 
holiday gayety which should have led them to respond 
immediately and with zest to his inquiry. In plain truth, 
they evidently had no intention of replying at all. Their 
progenitor, therefore, interrogated his eldest son by name. 

“Mike,” he said, “you heard my question. What is 
the popular name of this day ? ” 

Thus singled out, that urchin mumbled forth : 

“Christmas, I s’ppose.” 

“Far better say you know than you suppose,” com- 
mented the husband and father. “Yes, Christmas. And 
you, Milly, tell me what two words people address to one 
another upon this memorable day ? ” 

“Merry Christmas,” returned Milly, looking sourly 
into her father’s face. “ But why they call it that, I don’t 
know, I’m sure. It’s stupid enough here, Heaven knows ! ” 

“Milly,” observed Mr. Slack severely, “your reply is 
rather more extended than my question demanded. It 
is bad enough for certain of the young to be seen, to say 
nothing of their being heard. Now, Milly, to rebuke you 
for what you have said, I inform you without further 
delay, that this salted pork was procured especially for 
you.” 

“You know I don’t like the horrid old stuff !” inter- 
rupted the young lady, seemingly little crushed by her 
rebuke. 

“Milly, Milly,” pursued Mr. Slack, “remember what I 
said about the mere sight of some young persons, I wish 


IOO 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


to ask you, in view of this holiday remembrance which I 
have denied myself to make, how do you think your late 
manifestation of discontent appears ? ” 

“ It looks a heap better than a great hunk of slimy, 
greasy, salt pork ! ” retorted Milly. 

“Looks are very deceptive,” observed Mr. Silas Slack, 
rather hard-put for a suitable reply. “And now,” he 
continued, “before I go I have one more question to ask 
you, Milly. Why are you proud of your pa ? ” 

“Because he makes presents and then eats them up 
himself ! ” returned that young lady unexpectedly. 

“That will do, Milly,” remarked Mr. Slack, quite un- 
moved. “You have done yourself and me anything but 
credit this morning. Paulina, good-bye.” 

Mr. Slack appeared satisfied, and soon after went out. 
A bright, bracing morning crowned Mr. Slack’s final effort 
to trace out the whereabouts of Rachel Underwood. But 
his labors did not lie in the most agreeable quarters. He 
patrolled the river- front from the battery to Fourteenth 
Street until he was sick of the smell of salt water ; he 
hung about crowded corners until the police not very 
politely recommended him to move on ; he shoved his way 
into throngs of holiday children until Christmas horns 
and drums well-nigh distracted him ; he poked his nose 
into places where his nose had no right to be, and had it 
poked rather roughly back again ; he worked a passage 
into many a dark rat-hole where dirty human vermin 
gnawed and fought their lives away ; he peered into 
narrow passages, he peered around angles, he peered into 
dives below ground, and dens above ground ; he peered 
high and he peered low, he peered east, and he peered 
west — and he peered in vain ! “The Streets, New York,” 
was not an easy number to find : Mr. Slack found it 
impossible to find. 

The sinking sun of this brief winter afternoon, cast its 
shadows into Cherry Street as Mr. Slack, with the look of a 
hunter who is bringing home no birds, was slowly winding 
his peering way down its melancholy slope. Melancholy ? 


MR. SLACK'S SUSPICIONS. 


IOI 


Yes, melancholy and, in spite of the plenteous youngsters, 
lonely enough. For the chilling wind that swept bleakly 
over its sloping roofs and beat sighingly at old dormer 
windows, whispered mournfully of bright and happy 
days forever gone; whispered drearily of joyous Christ- 
mases in the old days, when the hospitable Knickerbocker 
grandsire gathered his relations of three generations 
about loaded tables and glowing firesides, little thinking 
that the moan of Poverty would one day drown out 
the rollicking laugh of his grandchildren at their blind- 
man’s-buff, or that his cheerful halls should yet echo the 
mad curse of the bloated sot, or that his doorstep should 
be worn by the passing and repassing of the feet of crime 
and shame ; whispered dreamily of summer-days on the 
green river-bank where merry children gambolled with 
their pets, and soberer parents peacefully enjoyed the 
quiet and beauty of their rich heritage ; whispered wildly, 
whispered dolefully, of change and decay. 

But Mr. Slack had no time or inclination for joining the 
winter wind in this sort of reverie, as he crept along on 
his homeward way, peering into the windows that he 
passed. At one of these windows a young man peered 
back at him. The large dark eyes of this individual, and 
the face in which they were set, affected Mr. Slack with a 
deep curiosity. He continued to gaze into them for the 
space of five or ten seconds, and then straightway passed 
to the door by which entrance was gained to the room 
where the young man sat. The door was opened by the 
proprietor of the apartment, bearing a mischievous young 
monkey upon his shoulder. 

“I beg pardon,” began Mr. Slack, “if I intrude. Your 
face, your turn of eye and countenance, so strongly 
attracted me that I could not resist coming in.” 

The young man making no reply, Mr. Slack, as if from 
force of habit, peered inquisitively all about the room, and 
then continued : 

“Begging and craving again, I must say (honesty com- 
pels me) that it was not in one sens zjyour face that drew 


102 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


me. It was rather its resemblance to the countenance of 
another, to — to — well, a client of mine. You see I am a 
lawyer, sir.” 

“Beggin’ nuthin’,” returned the young man, “ you see 
that I’m a monkey-trainer. And cravin’ nuthin’, I remark 
to you that Bumpo is so particular well-trained that 
when chumps bothers me too long with their gab, he flies 
at them and tears out several of their hairs. ” 

Mr. Slack assured his host that he would detain him but 
a moment longer. 

“But,” he continued, “there is one question which I 
beg leave and permission to ask. I will give you this 
nickel for the required information. Are you the brother 
of a sister ? ” 

“My eye!” exclaimed the monkey-owner, depositing 
the nickel which Bumpo dutifully handed him, in his vest- 
pocket. “Sister again! Holy smoke! I’m glad that 
Bump ain’t got his neck-wear on, or I suppose I’d have to 
be asked again where I got that from.” 

Bumpo’s neckwear, Mr. Slack. A trinket, a bawble, 
Mr. Slack. A tiny jewelled serpent, that once seemed to 
be stinging in your pocket, Mr. Silas Slack. 

“Who asked you about your sister before?” quickly 
inquired Mr. Slack, inwardly repeating: “Hardangle, 
Esquire, ladies and gents.” 

“How many more questions to make one?” asked the 
young man. “Never mind who asked me. It’s none of 
your blame biz ! Yes, I had a chippie once, which is to 
say a sis. Now, hump ! I’ve seed you before, young chap, 
though you don’t guess where and won't ever know, but 
I don’t want to see you again. Hump, I say ! ” 

But Mr. Slack would have lost a good many hairs rather 
than obey. He felt that his aim was so good his game 
was sure. Success seemed within his grasp. He offered 
the monkey another nickel. 

“Let me beg and crave another moment,” he said. 
“The man who called here to ask about your sister 
looked like a lawyer, didn’t he ? ” 


MR. SLACK'S SUSPICIONS. 


103 

“ He did, did he? Well, he just didn’t. No man ever 
called here to ask about no sister. You don’t count.” 

“Oh, it was a woman, was it? Was she rather short 
and dark ? ” 

“No, she wasn’t rather nuthin’. No woman ever 
called here — except you. The she what asked me was 
tall enough to make two of such a little runt as you. 
Come, Bump, we must clear him out ! ” 

“A moment, one moment of time!” cried Mr. Slack, 
putting his foot on the doorsill. “Your sister — her name 
is Underwood? ” 

“Underwood, is it? Then she’s spliced since I seed 
her — which was years ago — because my name’s Otway — 
William Otway. Come, monk, we must clear him out ! ” 

At this, Bumpo crouched himself for a spring, and Mr. 
Slack withdrew towards the hall-door. 

“ One second, one second of time!” he cried. “An- 
other nickel if you’ll tell me where she lives ! ” 

“Give us the nickel, then,” returned the young man, 
and when the money was safely in his hand, he smiled an 
evil smile of triumph, as he continued: “I ain’t been 
home in years. I don’t even know where that place lies. 
Least of all I don’t know where’s her home. And so I 
says : Bumpo, at him ! ” 

As the little brown beast made a flying leap at his “sev- 
eral hairs,” Mr. Slack jumped to the sidewalk, and beat a 
hasty retreat. 


104 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

VICTIM OR VICTOR. 

It was Christmas Eve. Robert Moreland and his little 
son were returning from his wife's home, whither they 
had gone to bear the season’s greetings. The winter 
wind was hoarsely howling through streets and over 
chimney-tops, and driving the snow pell-mell into drifts 
along the house-fronts, or dashing it indiscriminately into 
the faces of all Christmas wayfarers, and little Rex, prat- 
tling busily away, had walked but two or three blocks 
when his father was forced to take him in his arms. He 
had little more than done so, when, under the street-lamp 
at the next crossing, a woman accosted him. 

“Merry Christmas, Robert ! ” she said. 

Robert Moreland could not have started more suddenly 
had a spirit from some other world floated down on the 
wings of the storm and laid its unearthly hand upon him. 

“ Rachel, Rachel Underwood ! ” he cried. “ How came 
you here ? The child has ears. I wish you a very happy 
Christmas.” 

“ Robert, Robert Moreland ! ” replied the woman. “ He 
has ears and a tongue. Master Rex, look down from 
your warm nest and see what a nice mother you should 
have had. ” 

“Rachel!” hoarsely pleaded Robert, “ for God’s sake 
forbear ! ” 

“Forbear? — what a fine word ! Robert, do you think 
I’m handsome yet? You used to say ,1 was. My shoes 
are a trifle worn for the snow, and my dress is a little 
ragged ; and then I’ve been through a good deal since I 
last saw you. But, really, don’t you think my eyes are 
bright and handsome still ? ” 


VICTIM OR VICTOR. 


I0 S 

Without answering the woman’s question, Robert More- 
land put his child down in the snow and bade him wait 
for him at the other side of the crossing. Then, turning 
his eyes full into those of Rachel Underwood, he exclaimed 
in a low voice : 

“ Rachel, Rachel, Rachel ! ” 

“Never mind about Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,” broke in 
the young woman, “but answer my question. Do you 
think they are handsome ? ” 

“Do not ask such a question, Rachel. And we must 
not stand here. What can I do for you ? ” 

“What can you do for me? Oh, dear me, how funny ! 
I’m not dressed very well, am I, Rob,ert ? ” 

“No, Rachel. But I really must go. Here are five 
dollars to get you something warmer to wear.” 

“So funny again ! Do you know what I’m thinking 
about ? ” 

“No, Rachel. Take the money.” 

“I’m wondering why you don’t ask me where your 
oldest child is. Why, you don’t even know whether it’s 
a son or a daughter.” 

“Come, come, Rachel !” cried Robert, unable to con- 
ceal the horrid agitation which was quivering within him, 
“here are five dollars more. I must go. Mrs. Moreland 
will be awaiting me.” 

“ Mrs. Moreland ! Oh my, oh my ! So strange again ! 
Such odd things you do say ! You always were good com- 
pany. You don’t seem to know at all that Mrs. More- 
land is talking to you. And really, my dress isn’t just as 
warm as it ought to be for a woman of my station : the 
wind will leak through, you know, Robert.” 

“Yes, yes, Rachel; that’s just the reason I offer you 
the money. Why do you not take it ? There, I put it in 
your shawl. Good-night. ” 

But as Robert started to go, Rachel suddenly shot out 
a long, thin hand, and seized him by the arm. 

“Now don’t be so quick,” she said, darting the money 
into the pocket of his great-coat. “ I haven’t said all yet. 


io6 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Now, really, don't hurry so : I’m going to ask you one 
more question. What if I should follow you ? ” 

Robert Moreland’s face, which had been white before, 
was now overspread with a deathly pallor. 

“What do you mean, woman ? ” 

“Now that’s another funny one ! Isn’t it queer that 
you don’t know what such an easy question means ! But 
I’ll ask it again : What if I should go home with you and 
sit in your parlor and talk to your wife (other wife I mean 
— you’ve got two, you know) ? Now what ? ” 

“Look here, Rachel,” said Robert desperately, “I must 
go ! But I’ll tell you : let me come and see you to- 
morrow night, and we’ll settle things.” 

“Now that’s an idea ! I’ll do it, Robert. But I don’t 
live in a very nice house. It's a big one, though : there’s 
no end of rooms in it. But the sun never shines into 
them, and it smells bad. But you come ; and, since you 
don’t know the way and ain’t much used to such places, 
I’ll meet you at the City Hall, and we’ll go together. 
Nobody will bother you while I’m with you : they know 
Rachel. The City Hall at half-past eight. Good-night.” 

Gathering her scanty shawl about her, Rachel Under- 
wood, without another word, darted down the cross-street 
in the direction of the East River. Robert Moreland, 
when he realized that she had gone, hurried to his little 
boy, and brushing the snow from his cloak and cap, caught 
him eagerly in his arms. Not so easily, however, could 
he take back to himself his peace of mind. The shades 
of darkness which time had illumined had revealed to him 
once more the shadowy outline of their sable curtains. 

“Are your feet cold, Rex ? ” 

“No, papa. I climbed on the lamp-post.” 

“Isn’t this snow just jolly, though? Old Santa will 
have no trouble with his sled and reindeers to-night, 
will he?” 

“No, papa, he’ll just come jingle, jingle. Papa, who 
was that pretty lady, all in rags ? She was pretty, but I 
didn’t like her : she seemed to frighten you so.” 


VICTIM OR VICTOR. 


107 

“Oh, she’s a woman I used to know, Rex. It’s enough 
to frighten any one — she looked so pale and cold and 
wild. Yes, indeed, he will come jingle, jingle.” 

“And he’s going to bring me a drum and a hum-top 
and a tin horn : I asked him to. Does that lady live in 
New York? ” 

“Yes, Rex, I think she does. How do you know ofd 
Santa heard you ? ” 

“Why, I just know it, papa. And I’ll go drum, drum, 
drum, all around the house. Papa, what did that ragged 
lady say she ought to have been my mamma for ? ” 

“Oh, she may have thought how nice it would be to 
have a little boy like you and live in a nice house, instead 
of being all ragged and cold. Now be quiet a minute, 
Rex, I want to think.” 

The little boy obeyed, and the father was the first to 
break the silence. Whatever may have been the thoughts 
that had been passing through his mind, he merely said : 

“Rex, there are a great many such women in New 
York. Poor things ! Did you see me offer her money ? ” 

“Yes, papa, and she wouldn’t take it.” 

“ No, she gave it back to me. I wish she would have 
taken it: she was so poorly dressed. Your Uncle Phil 
works all day among just such people, Rex ; and a noble 
work it is — very noble.” 

“Do you mean you are going to tell Uncle Phil about 
this one, too, papa? Maybe she’d take it from him. I’m 
sure she must have been cold.” 

“I don’t know as Uncle Phil could find her if I did, and 
she seemed quite proud, too. I’m sorry you saw her, 
Rex. Such sights are better for older eyes, and I sent you 
across the street because I didn’t want you to hear the 
unpleasant things she might say.” 

“Why, papa, here are the steps, and you were going 
right by them. And there’s mamma in the window look- 
ing for us.” 

“ Well, I’m getting to be quite a philosopher, to forget 
what I’m about, am I not ? ” said Robert, turning back. 


io8 


Where the tides meet. 


And then he mentally added : “Ah, Florence, Florence, 
if anything should happen ! ” 

“Well,” said Florence Moreland, as her little family 
were seated at dinner that night, “who would have be- 
lieved that Christmas had come again ! ” 

“Who? Why, I should,” responded Robert. “ I tell 
you what, Florence, getting married is a bad business in 
one way. The time passes so rapidly that ones life is in 
danger of being spent before he knows it.” 

“You poor fellow! ” rejoined Florence. “I wish I 
could let you out of your difficulty. But to tell the honest 
truth, you don’t look a day older than you did when we 
were married — and, dear me, we’re getting to be quite a 
staid old couple by this time.” 

“ I’m sure it seems long enough to me since we had a 
Christmas before,” put in Rex. “ I think it takes a awful 
time to come.” 

“Do you, love ? ” said the fond mother. “Well, it used 
to seem so to me once, too ; but now one flies along so 
quickly after another, that they quite take my breath away. 
This snow just tickles you to death, doesn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, mamma; but it isn’t so jolly for everybody. 
Papa and I saw such a poor, ragged woman ! She 
looked so bad that she quite frightened us, and papa had 
to send me across the street so that I shouldn’t hear any- 
thing to make me feel sorry. She was a pretty lady, but 
I didn’t think she was nice, and she said she ought to have 
been my mamma. Papa told me there were a good many 
women like her in the city, but she wouldn’t take any 
money to buy better dresses.” 

“Quite a graphic account,” said Robert Moreland, smil- 
ing into Rex’s eyes. “She was a queer case, Florence. 
I offered her ten dollars, half-clad creature that she was, 
but she wouldn’t have it. The poor thing seemed partially 
demented, and, as Rex has hinted, almost to envy you your 
motherhood and riches. If there were more like Phil, 
there would be fewer like her. ” 

“ Oh, isn’t it awful that such as she can’t have a Merry 


VICTIM OR VICTOR. 


109 

Christmas, too ! ” cried Florence. “It seems almost selfish 
in 11s to have so many good things, while there is such 
distress so near at hand. Sometimes when Phil — dear, dear 
Phil ! — is talking to me about his work (which isn’t very 
often, he’s so overtaxed), I do feel so mean and narrow 
and wrapped up in my own selfishness. I suppose you 
will give Phil your usual gift to the poor this Christmas ? ” 

“I’ve a great mind to double it, Florence,” replied 
Robert. “That sight to-night, together with your self- 
accusing words, has moved me so much that I believe I’ll 
make it two hundred. Yes, I will.” 

“ That’s my Robert all over ! ” exclaimed the admiring 
wife. “And do you know, I’m going to give your old 
hundred myself, and that seems such a little bit. But per- 
haps it will bring a little happiness to some poor child of 
sin and sorrow, or wipe away, for a day at least, the tears 
from a pale, wrinkled cheek.” 

The subject of the “ pretty lady ” was destined once more 
to be raised that night. 

Rex had been long cosily dreaming of long processions 
of youthful drummers and small armies of boys flourishing 
Christmas trumpets. The storm was driving against the 
library windows and a long evening of sweet communion 
was drawing to a close, when Florence exclaimed : 

“ Oh, Robert ! if the city were only filled with men like 
you, such sad scenes as you and Rex witnessed to-night 
would be the rarity instead of an every-day occurrence. 
It is just as Phil says, the city will only be saved when all 
good men become missionaries and are willing to give 
their share either in time or money to the work of uplifting 
and purifying and renovating the poor wrecks of men, 
women, and children who are ground down by poverty and 
enslaved by appetite. It’s an easy thing to blame these 
poor mortals for their sins and crimes, but even we, with 
all our comforts, at times feel the need of diversion : how 
then can we find fault with them if they seek for a mo- 
mentary relief in drowning the remembrance of their mis- 
eries in drunkenness and shame ? ” 


IIO 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Robert Moreland did not smile at his wife’s earnestness : 
he did not say that her heart was overbalancing her head. 
No, Robert was possessed, on his best side, of a noble 
and refined nature, a nature readily touched by exalted 
sentiments ; one which, while it had not proved strong 
enough to rule him, was yet strong enough, when aroused, 
vehemently to loathe and condemn those feet of clay 
which led him into woful divergence from the straight path 
of rectitude. His wife’s words found a quick and hearty 
response in his breast. The thought of bringing happiness 
where there had been misery, and light where darkness 
had long held uninterrupted sway, was at once grateful and 
beautiful, and he felt its power. Robert Moreland was one 
of that not inconsiderable class of men who recoil from the 
sight of suffering in all its forms. Cruelty, even in its more 
refined manifestations, awoke no other sensation within 
him than avenging disgust. Could he have had his way, 
the whole world would have been rich and happy. More 
than that, he was willing to do his part towards bringing 
about such a result. He would gladly have denied him- 
self if thereby he could have relieved distress in another. 
What, then, was the radical weakness in a character every 
one loved for its buoyancy and generosity ? How came it 
that Robert had wrought the ruin and desolation of the piti- 
ful young creature who had spoken his name in the flare 
of the gas that very night ? How was it compatible with 
such a nature that he who would resolutely have interposed 
his broad shoulders between any woman and her deceiver, 
had himself brought to a pretty and innocent girl as 
bitter grief as a woman’s heart can know, and rudely tram- 
pled upon that sweetest and tenderest thing in God’s 
universe — a woman’s love ? Ah, here lay the explanation : 
Robert’s goodness, like another man’s badness, was but 
natural. He hated vulgarity and cruelty as spontaneously 
as another man revelled in them. It was not that vulgarity 
and cruelty were unworthy and degrading, but that they 
produced unpleasantness and pain. Alms and charity cost 
him no more effort than did malice and rapacity in another. 


VICTIM OR VICTOR. 


1 1 1 


Robert Moreland deprecated not the offence but the pen- 
alty : not the sowing but the reaping. Thus it was that, 
lured on, step by step, he had selfishly committed an offence 
whose far-reaching prospect of misery and shame was too 
shadowy to confront him with its vision of cruelty. No, 
Robert felt not the slightest inclination to smile at his 
wife’s earnest words. For not only did they receive his 
heart’s full approval, but they also awakened echoes and 
images which drove far from him any thought of mirth. 
“ If the city were filled with men like you. ” Ah, the irony 
of it ! Ah, the bitterness of it ! Not the bitterness of 
the transgression, but the bitterness of the law. Not the 
bitterness of baseness, but the bitterness of unworthiness ! 

“Florence,” he burst forth, “ you talk like the angel you 
are ! You make me feel mean and low beside you. Speak 
to me as much as you will about your love and sympathy 
for your fallen brothers and sisters, but do not, do not 
praise me, nor wish that there existed a single other man 
like me. To hear you, who are all that is good and noble, 
praising me who am so unworthy, is almost more than I 
can endure. You must not do it, you must not ! ” 

Thus again did Robert Moreland stultify himself, thus 
again did he show himself strong enough to utter half the 
truth, too weak to be silent. Thus again, by being almost 
a man was he the more no man. Making a palsied 
attempt to be sincere in self-denunciation, he but raised 
himself, as he secretly knew, still higher in his wife’s 
esteem. Her reply was what might be expected. 

“Robert,” she said, “ I once asked you never to talk 
to me like that. Please do not do it again. It pains me, 
and all to no purpose. Your very denial of goodness only 
reveals your possession of it. Hark, love ! The old clock 
on the stairs is ushering in our sixth Christmas. Dear old 
clock ! each time you tell me that another Christmas has 
come, you find me a little more happy and full of love. 
Oh, my husband, I wish you such a merry, merry 
Christmas ! ” 


1 12 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Ten, eleven, twelve ! ” A year of love and joy has 
gone, old clock on the stairs, Robert Moreland, in your 
library : what sort of a year has begun, Robert Moreland, 
in your library, old clock on the stairs, Rachel Underwood 
— wherever you are? 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 


^3 


CHAPTER XV. 

DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 

Merry Christmas was a mockery for Jeremiah Hard- 
angle, as he sat down to the turkey and mince-pie which 
Molly had carefully prepared, for the lawyer’s heart was too 
deep and cold for merriment, and his thoughts were too 
busy with memories of the past. Merry Christmas was 
not a mockery to Molly Humstone, for that morning the 
man of law had bestowed upon her no less substantial a 
gift than his last will and testament conveying to her all 
properties of which he should die possessed. Nor was it 
a mockery to good Josey Applegate and his benignant 
spouse, to whom Molly hastened to make known the 
wonderful news, after the dishes were washed and put 
away that afternoon. In the course of this visit the fol- 
lowing conversation took place : 

“ Well, sister, you see I’m wearing it,” said Dolly. 

“Wearing what ? ” 

Mrs. Applegate laid her finger upon the breast-pin at her 
neck, which hitherto she had reserved for state occasions. 

“Oh,” continued Molly, “you mean that pin Josey 
gave you, and which was so exactly like the one that scar- 
ing little monkey had. I’ve always said I hated to see it 
on you, and I do now. I vow it was stolen from some- 
body, and it’s like burglaring to wear it.” 

“Well, well,” broke in Josey, what’s a pin for if not 
to wear ? It is queer that there should have been another 
like it, but being it’s my gift I want the old girl to wear it 
right along.” 

In the family of Mr. Slack, Merry Christmas was the 
same old mockery it always was, with the exception that 
Milly had married and exchanged the box-like home of 
8 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


114 

her father for a box-like home of her own, and that 
Mike had grown weary of living with an honest man and 
surreptitiously taken his departure. 

It was eight o’clock in the evening of this Christmas day, 
for the home of Robert Moreland, where Merry Christmas 
has been a reality to all save the master of the house him- 
self. Now, as he rose to take leave of his wife and 
little boy, the bitterness of his soul reached its climax. 

“ Must you really go ? ” asked his wife, pleadingly. 

“Yes, I must go,” replied Robert, looking into her rue- 
ful face. “And. it’s not a very nice matter either, espe- 
cially for Christmas night, when of all nights I dislike 
leaving you. I’d rather not tell you just what it is, dear, 
though I will if you ask me. ” 

Did Florence Moreland, laying bare in a moment the 
thin, yet cunning stratagem of these words, shrink away 
from the man who had uttered them ? Did she point at 
him the finger of scorn and cry : “Hypocrite !” No 
idea was further from her mind. 

“If you think it is better I should not know,” she 
replied, “ of course I shall not seek to. It does seem too 
bad that business must crowd itself into the few days we 
have together. How long shall you be gone ? ” 

“I cannot be certain. I hope not more than an hour 
or thereabouts, for I know how sensitive my father's death 
has made you about my being out at night. But I can- 
not tell. If we should get into a discussion I might be 
forced to stay half the night. So do not sit up for me, and 
above all things do not worry even if I fail to put in an 
appearance until daybreak. Promise me that you will 
not worry. ” 

“I cannot promise, Robert, because what you ask is a 
thing quite beyond my control. But I can promise to try, 
and I will.” 

“ Good-night, papa/” cried Rex from the floor where he 
was busily engaged extracting music from a very corpulent, 
parti colored top. “ If you meet the pretty lady, try and 
make her take the money : she must have been very cold.” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 


1T 5 

Robert Moreland bade his child good-night, and kissed 
his wife with a peculiar lingering tenderness whose source 
she little guessed, and started away with the light of her 
eyes burning in his heart. True to her word, he found 
Rachel Underwood awaiting him at the City Hall. 

“I half doubted you’d come, Robert,” she said, advanc- 
ing out of its shadow to meet him. “But now this is 
nice ! It reminds me of the old days when I was work- 
ing for your mother, and we used to steal off together this 
sort of way. But come, let’s hurry, so we can talk longer.” 

“Can’t we settle everything right here,” urged Robert. 
“ I wronged you some years ago (would to God I had not ! 

I repent of it), and I am willing and anxious to repay you 
as fully as I can.” 

Rachel Underwood stared at her companion with her 
fine, dark eyes wide open. 

“Robert, are you afraid to go with me?” she asked. 

I I Are you afraid you’ll never get back ? Are you afraid I’m 
leading you to your grave ? If you are, you little know my 
wrecked heart. Settle it here ? No ! Come, let us hurry ! ” 

Rachel took the lead, and Robert, very reluctantly as 
his wife’s face rose before him, though with no fear of vio- 
lence, followed close behind her. The fallen woman glided 
unhesitatingly along, looking neither to the right hand nor 
to the left, and in a few minutes had led the way into 
slovenly, destitute streets, which, though he had been 
born in the city, Robert Moreland had never visited before. 
Rachel, however, made no uncertain step, she knew her 
dingy way all too well. 

“ Oh, my eye ! ” exclaimed a young rogue just starting 
out on his night’s prowl, as Rachel and her follower passed 
him in a narrow street loud with the noise of brutal mirth, 
“who’s she trapped to-night? A regular prize, Rach, I 
swear ! ” 

“You mind your own affairs, you, Harry ! ” commanded 
Rachel, as she turned into a distorted alley still narrower 
than the street. “I could put you behind the bars if I 
wanted to, and you remember it ! ” 


n6 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


The young man made no reply except a light, scornful 
laugh, and Rachel passed on down the alley. She had 
walked but a few steps when she stumbled over a sleeping 
sot quite unconscious of the cold and snow. 

“ Here now, you, Dwyer ! ” she cried, stooping over and 
giving the poor beast a brisk shake, “you get up ! If you 
lie there much longer you’ll lie there forever, unless some- 
body carts you off.” 

And lending a helping hand to the drowsy old drunkard, 
she left him standing on his feet, leaning unsteadily 
against the high, brick wall which enclosed the alley on 
the south. Another half minute brought the fleet guide 
to a low, dark passage-way between two high tenements, 
into which she slipped. Then, turning and twisting through 
a thieves’ “runway,” she came to a dismantled portal into 
which she still led the way, and assisted her somewhat 
bewildered companion to mount flight after flight of wind- 
ing, rickety stairs, until the fifth landing was reached. 
Here she opened a door and, striking a light, triumphantly 
ejaculated as Robert closed the door behind him : 

“Home! ” 

Robert accepted the battered, wooden chair which his 
hostess offered him, and made a hasty survey of the spot. 
Home it may have been, but in nowise was it sweet home. 
Alas ! it was bitter and wretched enough — more wretched 
than anything Robert had ever been called upon to behold. 
The room in which he sat was a square of about a dozen 
feet, two of whose walls consisted of bare boards, and 
two of grimy plaster. Or, more truthfully, they had been 
of plaster, for now great patches had fallen off, leaving 
the rough laths exposed — an easy ingress to the winter 
wind which whistled noisily outside of them, and a rapid 
transit to the rats and mice, which, though they were rent- 
free, outnumbered the crowded inhabitants of the ram- 
shackle barrack, ten to one. The western wall was punct- 
ured by a single small window ; the floor could boast no 
vestige of carpet : and the only furniture in sight was a 
low kitchen-table, two wooden-bottomed chairs, and a 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 


117 

diminutive cooking-stove with a very rusty pipe. A second 
room, which, from Robert’s position, appeared about half 
the size of the one in which he was sitting, completed the 
“home.” Of this contracted chamber nothing was visi- 
ble except the foot of an iron bedstead and an inverted 
soap-box which did service for a wash-stand and supported 
a tin basin, a spoutless water-pitcher, a hair-comb and a 
bit of broken looking-glass. 

Rachel allowed her guest sufficient time fully to acquaint 
himself with these particulars, and then said : 

“ It isn’t so very nice, is it? It was really quite good 
of you to come. You don’t think it’s just the place for 
one of my eyes, do you, now ? Yes, I see what you’re 
looking about for, now that you have seen the rest. You’re 
asking yourself where the child is. Well, she isn’t here. 
And you needn’t ask me where she is, for I don’t know.” 

“Yes, Rachel, but let us come right at our business. 
As I said, I’m willing and anxious to help you to a new 
start in life, and to get you out of this.” 

“Well, now, that’s funny again ! The same old fellow. 
You are willing ! Are you sure you’re very willing, 
Robert ? Maybe something I said last night makes you 
more willing than you would have been ? ” 

“As you will, Rachel. Still the case now stands that I 
do want to make what amends I can and help you out of 
this vile place. To settle why I am willing could help 
you out no faster.” 

“Are you very sure of that, Robert? Perhaps it might 
help me out a little better any way. But don’t talk as if 
you begrudged me every minute you stayed. And, really, 
you hardly can go till I’m ready to have you : it’s sort of 
thick around here, and you might not like to ask an officer 
to show you the way, even if you could find one. Shall I 
tell you something, Robert ? I was going to ask you to 
come here before you spoke of it yourself. That’s just 
why I was waiting for you last night. I saw you go out 
— I’ve seen you do a good many things of late. I wonder 
if you’ll think it’s funny, but I was a little afraid to have 


n8 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


you come here, because I knew I was going to say some 
real strange things that you might not like, and you’re 
pretty big, you know. Yes, I was afraid, so I just had a 
friend of mine stay by me. Shadow, you’re there, ain’t 
you ? ” 

“Yes, I’m here ! ” growled a deep, gruff voice out of the 
dark of the bedroom, and straightway a pair of rough, 
dirty boots became visible at the foot of the bed. 

Shadow ! Robert Moreland started at the sound of that 
name. The man who had last seen his father on the night 
of his murder. How strange it was that this man who 
was so associated with his father’s death, should be a 
friend of Rachel Underwood. 

“You see he’s there, don’t you, Robert?” continued 
Rachel. “At least, I see you do, so don’t get angry at 
me. You needn’t look at the door as if you were afraid. 
Can’t you believe I wouldn’t have you harmed for the 
world? Just be easy : I brought him here for myself, not 
for you. And now let me see : you said you were very 
willing.” 

“I said more than that, Rachel : I said I was anxious. 
But would it not be better that your friend should not hear 
our talk ? ” 

“Oh, never fear about him. He won’t bother himself 
about listening to what he thinks is small love-talk. He’ll 
be asleep before you can say Jack Robinson. Of course 
you don’t know anything about such things, Robert, but 
that Shadow is a very bad one, I believe. So you’re 
more than willing. I’m glad you are, because really you 
must be willing, you know. All I’e got to do is just to 
follow you home when you go — if you do go — and have 
some little words with her. ” 

“'Well, well, Rachel, we won’t talk about that. This 
place isn’t fit for any human being, and I’ll help you out 
without any such trouble. We won’t talk about that.” 

“Oh, yes, Robert, we will talk about that. That’s just 
what we’re going to talk about. You see, I want to talk 
about it, and you really have to do what I want you to. ” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR . 


n 9 

“No, Rachel, no, no ! Let the past be past. We 
must bury it as deep as the grave and cover it as high as 
heaven. For your sake, for my sake, it must never be 
disinterred. Let us leave it, a -blackened and decaying 
corpse, and think of it only to repent of it and deplore it. 
And so, Rachel, looking right at the present, I say that 
you must not live a day longer like this. I cannot bear 
to think of your staying in so vile a spot and in the midst 
of such wicked and debasing surroundings. You must 
get another position in some good family, and be again as 
you were before.” 

“ Before what, Robert? ” 

“Before, before ” 

“ Before before, Robert? That's a funny thing to be 
before. But never mind. So I must get another position 
in some good family. It might gall me after my free life 
— but it's quite an idea, after all. What would you say to 
giving me one in your own family ? ” 

“ I have plenty of servants, now, Rachel.” 

“ Why, yes, of course you have. But Til wait until you 
haven’t enough. Servants don’t stay in one place forever. ” 
“Oh, Rachel, woman, why insist so? You know it 
would not be best for either of us. ” 

“Not best? That’s queer again. Perhaps, then, you 
would just as lief recommend me to some of your friends, 
as an honest girl of good, respectable character.” 

“Why, Rachel, why, yes, I do think you’re honest, or 

you were when I last knew you. But, but ” 

“But not respectable, you know. Yes, I see all the 
‘ buts.’ I used to be respectable, didn’t I, Robert — just as 
respectable as honest? Your mother wouldn’t have had 
anything but respectable people to work for her. Now, 
it’s funny that it don’t occur to you that the same reason 
that makes me ‘but, but,’ makes you so, too. But you’ve 
passed on and up as if nothing had happened, and I’ve 
passed on and down as if everything had happened.” 

Besides the unceasing stir of life in the great tenement, 
Shadow’s heavy breathing (for he had now fallen asleep) 


120 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


and the scamper of rats behind the dilapidated walls, wcie 
the only sounds which, for a time, broke the silence 
which followed Rachel’s remarks. When Robert More- 
land lifted his eyes to the sin-marred face before him, their 
look of apprehension had become mingled with grief and 
sadness. 

“Ah, Rachel, Rachel ! ” he cried, “it does apply to me, 
it does ! It applies to me more than to you. It was my 
fault, all my fault. But we must not dwell on it now. 
Dwelling on it can do no good. The only thing to do is 
to mend the broken past as well as we can : we cannot, 
alas ! change it. And so, Rachel, let us look only at the 
present : we do not get on at all at this rate. I will give 
you a large sum to dress you in good clothes, and get you 
a better, sweeter home, and keep you until you can find 
good, honest employment. It would be better, far better 
for you to work than to have abundance, or I would make 
you independent the rest of your life. Now what sum 
would you require ? ” 

“Don’t you think we’re getting on, Robert? I do: 
I’m getting just where I wanted to go. I’m showing you 
all you’ve done to me, so you can see just how much 
you’re in my debt. And now, having shown you, I’m 
going to say that I don’t like her. She’s pretty — I’ve seen 
her more than once. Her eyes are as handsome as mine, 
and she’s robbed me of you with them. Now you mustn’t 
be very angry — it won’t do here, you know — but I hate 
her ! I hate her for her face : I hate her for her boy. 
But most of all, I hate her for her eyes. Are my eyes 
handsome yet, Robert ? ” 

“They are as they were made, Rachel, but ” 

“Always but, but ! But if they are as they were made 
I know you think they’re handsome, for you used to say 
it so often. I look at them in the glass, nowadays, and 
wonder whether they’ve faded — I’ve been so wild and bad 
since, Robert.” 

“Oh, Rachel, don’t talk so, do not ! You must not. 
You must look ahead and not backward. You must try 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR . 


121 


with all your might to leave the past and start anew. Let 
us try to come to some agreement by which I can make 
you happy again/’ 

“Happy, Robert? Now you’ve just hit it ! You want 
to make me happy. That’s exactly what I want. And so 
I'm just going to ask you what I brought you here to ask 
you — to come back to me and be mine again. For you 
were mine, you know, and you’re mine, by right, now. 
Rachel first : her second. I’m glad you want to make me 
happy, Robert.” 

“ Rachel ! ” 

“Why, what a voice, Robert — what a look and what 
a voice ! You wanted to come to some agreement by 
which you could make me happy, and just as soon as I 
try to suit you, you get pale and flurried. Now you 
shouldn’t do so. I’m not bad, as I have been, Robert — 
I’m tired of being bad — but I’m all hollow and wrecked, 
and I want some one to love me and think I’m not all 
wicked. ” 

“Rachel, oh, Rachel ! You’re on the wrong path. 
You must not, must not think of me ! Poor, poor thing ! 
If you want to get where people won’t think you’re in- 
capable of good, and where you can get a fresh start, I’ll 
tell you just the thing. Take all the money you will 
need, and go settle down with some good farmer and his 
wife in the country. There no one will know the past, 
and, being now determined to be bad no more, you will 
be trusted and happy.” 

“Country!” echoed Rachel. “Country! What are 
you saying, Robert ! Why, I’d rather die outright than 
leave New York — unless you go with me. New York’s my 
God. I love its rush and its people and its excitement. 
Oh, no, Robert. Don’t talk such stuff. You belong to 
me, you chose me first, now come back to me. Let us 
live together in some nice big house, if not here then in 
some other big city, and have horses and carriages, and 
be handsome and happy.” 

“ Rachel, you are talking without thinking : you don’t 


122 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


realize what you are saying. Why, such a thing is im- 
possible — it is altogether out of the question ! ” 

“No, Robert, I’m not talking without thinking. I’ve 
been thinking about this very thing for quite a long time. 
And, Robert, if you will make me say it, I really must be 
happy ! ” 

“Woman, woman, you forget ! I have a wife. The 
thing cannot be dreamed of ? ” 

“Wife again, Robert? Don’t you know better than to 
talk to your first about your second ? Why, it’s bad enough 
taste to talk to a second about a first, let alone that.” 

“Rachel Underwood,” said Robert, with an enforced 
return to calmness, “I have offered you what you will 
to make amends for my awful crime against you. I 
did not fully realize its terrible character at the time, but 
I realize it now all too vividly. I would I could undo 
the past : there is nothing I would not sacrifice to bring 
about such a result. But I cannot : God himself cannot 
do that. But, Rachel,” and the face of Florence More- 
land, though dim and confused and very far away, grew, 
for a brief moment brighter before the speaker’s eye, 
“but, Rachel, I tell you, once and for all, that I cannot 
accede to your — I must say it — to your wrong demand.” 

Robert’s unexpected and dignified resoluteness of man- 
ner, for a moment, disconcerted the fallen creature, but 
she soon recovered herself, and cried : 

“Wrong! Wrong to belong to your first ! Oh, I hate 
her ! She’s strengthening you, and trying to take you 
from me this moment ! I saw the thought of her beauty 
pass over your face. But there — I don’t want to be sharp, 
Robert. I want you to come willingly, as you say, so 
let’s make the bargain pleasantly.” 

“ Rachel, I have spoken.” 

“Now, Robert, you w/// make me angry and sharp, if 
you talk so cold and grand. And if you won’t come 
willingly, you must come in some other way and learn 
to be willing afterward. For I will have you, and she 
sha’n’t have you ! She’s robbed me long enough. You’ve 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 


123 


made me what I am : I am your creditor for any amount, 
and now I’m presenting my bill. So don’t be so high 
and cold, but let’s strike the bargain here and now.” 

“ Rachel, I have spoken.” 

“Robert Moreland!” cried Rachel “have a care! 
Have you forgotten my threat ? Is her face a charm ? 
Will it keep me away ? But stay : ain’t you going home 
soon, now?” 

“Unless you accept my offers.” 

“Well, I don’t accept them, and I never will. So 
come : I’ll just put on my shawl and we’ll go together. 
Do you think she’ll be up yet ? ” 

Robert Moreland did not stir from his chair. Rachel 
had seen aright. The image of the sweet face which had 
parted so wistfully from him at the door as he was leaving 
home, had for a moment given him strength and inspi- 
ration in an engagement so extraordinary and terrific, that 
his forces had been sadly demoralized in it. But now, with 
Rachel standing ready to accompany him and denounce 
him, that same trustful face became the enemy’s valiant 
reserves, fresh and eager. His heart died within him : 
his courage was blasted: he had no power to rise, nor 
will to think. Rachel gazed upon him, as he sat thus, 
with a look of triumph in her dark eye. 

“Why, what makes you look so pale, Robert?” she 
asked. “Let’s go, you know. Don’t you like the idea 
of being seen on the rich avenues with me ? Or is it — 
but that really can’t be, you re so determined — is it that 
you would not like to stand by while I talk to your 
second ? It wouldn’t be very nice, would it ? But, really, 
we might as well go right away.” 

“Rachel!” groaned Robert, “not to-night! I must 
have time to think ! ” 

“All right, Robert, all right: just as you wish. I 
won’t be too hard on you — I really don’t want to see you 
suffer. Come, I’ll lead the way back. But don’t forget 
that I really must have you : you can’t decide but one 
way, after 


i24 


tV HE RE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Hasten, Rachel, hasten ! ” gasped Robert. “I must 
get out of this into the air : it’s stifling here. There’s the 
door, take the lead. This old well of a stair-case be- 
wilders me — and this smell ! ” 

Without another word Rachel Underwood guided her 
stunned victim down the dark stairs, through the dark 
“runway,” along the dark alley, and traversing the same 
course by which they had come, brought him again to the 
City Hall. 

“Now, Robert,” she asked, “when shall I see you 
again ? ” 

“Soon, soon, woman ! ” 

“All right, Robert. Then I’ll tell you: I’ll be here 
every night for a week at half-past eight. Good-night.” 

And turning away, Rachel Underwood darted off like 
m evil spirit, and was soon lost to view. 


GUESSWORK. 


I2 5 


CHAPTER XVI. 

GUESSWORK. 

Rachel Underwood's dart soon brought her back to her 
miserable abode. As she entered her room, the sound of 
heavy breathing that met her ear told her Shadow was 
still asleep. She approached the foot of the bed where he 
lay, and cried : 

“ The cops ! The cops ! ” 

Her words had the desired effect. The sleeping man 
was instantly aroused and sprang up with a mumbled 
curse. 

“Never mind, father,” said Rachel coolly. “I only 
wanted to get you awake. Come out here and sit down : 
I want to talk to you." 

“The devil take yer fur a scheming jade!" growled 
Shadow. “Ihain’t a-goin’ to waste my time a-gabbin’ 
with no poll-parrot." 

But in spite of his surly declaration, the desperate 
rogue did his daughter’s bidding, and stumbling out of 
the bedroom, took the seat which Robert Moreland had 
so lately vacated. 

“ Now, father," proceeded Rachel, when he was seated, 
“you haven’t seen me in a long time before, have you ? " 

“No, I hain’t, you Rach ; and I warn’t a-hankerin’ to 
see yer now." 

“Of course you weren’t. You ain’t hankered to see 
your wife and children for some years. I doubt you 
know whether they’re dead or alive, and I’m sure you 
don’t care. You used to be a decent father in the early 
days, but you’re nothing now but a useless, drinking 
rascal." 

“ Yer pert tongue 'll be hung too loose fur yer good, if 


126 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


yer hain’t a little careful, yer homely minx ! ” rejoined 
Shadow. “ Who’d blame a man fur not a-hankerin’ after 
livin’ with such an impudent hussy ? A nice, respecterble 
darter yer’ve grow’d, leavin’ yer home to walk the streets 
fur trade ! Yer wants to be careful, I say ! ” 

“Don’t think you can scare me with your threats, father. 
You can’t. I could manage you when I was a child and 
I can now. If I couldn’t, how did I get you here to- 
night ? I haven’t had any need of you either, as far as he 
was concerned; but I wanted to have a talk with you, 
anyhow. I know you, father ! ” 

“What do I care if yer do, yer skittish pigeon ? How 
the devil do yer know me? Yer don’t know me, yer 
little she-liar. Blast it ! Can’t I go nowhere without 
some fool a-sayin’ he knows me? Is the hull world 
turned cop, I’d like to know ? ” 

“Is that what the police ask you, father? ” 

“ Hain’t that what I seems to insinyerate, you ? ” 

“Why, yes, father, and that’s just the smart thing for 
them to say. Now, what do you reckon I’m going to 
talk to you about ? ” 

“Some of yer young slips, mostlike. ” 

“No, I ain’t : I’m done with them.” 

“Yes, it looks like it, don’t it, with one a-settin’ along 
of yer, this wery night. Yer’re a perty darter, hain’t 
yer?” 

“ Much you care whether I am or not. But say I am, 
father : there’s more than one that thinks my eyes are 
handsome. Say I am good-looking, and say that that slip 
came to see me because he thought so — it can’t do any 
harm. And who do you suppose that slip was, anyhow ? 
I’ll tell you — you might be interested to know. It was 
the son of Reginald Moreland.” 

“ Of who ? ” cried Shadow, leaning toward his daughter 
with a look of threatening interest. 

“Of just who I said. I said he was the son of Regi- 
nald Moreland.” 

“Yer did say it, did yer ? ” 


GUESSWORK. 


127 


“ Why, of course I did : why not, father ? But I thought 
you’d be interested, and, sure enough, you were. Don't 
you see how I’ve tricked you, and made you squeal on 
yourself? That’s what I’m going to talk about I’m 
going to ask you just how much you know about Regi- 
nald Moreland’s murder. ” 

“Yer crochety hair-pin, yer ! I tell yer, yer tongue is 
hung too loose fur yer good. Yer’re going to talk about 
that, are yer ? Hang yer ! I’ll slit yer neck fur yer, if 
yer don’t shet yer head from such clack ! First thing yer 
know, yer’ll be a-sayin’ I croaked him myself. Oh, it’s a 
perty one yer’ve grow’d ! ” 

“Well, what if I have, father? What’s that got to do 
with your answering my question ? And don’t you see 
how you’re leaking on yourself by being so turned up 
over my talking about the slip’s father ? Come, now ! 
can’t I see you know about the thing? And anyhow, 
don’t I know Bags wasn’t in the thing and you left 
out ? ” • ' 

Shadow glared angrily at the young woman before him, 
but she did not quail an iota before his savage glance. She 
sat quietly returning his gaze — the great brute’s master. 

“Heaps yer know about Shadow and Bags when the 
cops themselves didn’t twig it till I told ’em,” he retorted. 
“Yer’re too smart, ain’t yer? Leakin’, am I? Go and 
ask that there flatty what was so smart too, why I’m 
turned up about yer openin’ yer head about that More- 
land. He’ll tell yer as it’s because my pal got soaked 
white and stiff and cold all on a sudden through foolin' 
with him. He’ll let yer know, yer hussy, that Shadow 
ain’t lost all feelin’s and sentermints. What the devil are 
yer doin’ with that rich bum here, anyhow ? ” 

“That’s my business.” 

“Yer business, is it? Then see that yer always 
minds it. Don’t be a-pryin’ into other people’s. I sup- 
pose as it’s yer business why yer want to know about 
that there old Moreland as yer says war murdered. ” 

“ I suppose it is, father. ” 


128 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Who told yer he war murdered?” 

“That’s my business, too,” persevered Rachel. “It’s 
enough that I know he was.” 

“I reckon as that there young chump has been blabbin’ 
to yer,” ventured the curious ruffian. 

“You’re free to reckon just what you please,” retorted 
Rachel. “But come : why don’t you answer my ques- 
tion? How much do you know about that murder? 
And don’t tell me what I know already. Don’t tell me 
the same yarn you made up for your drunken friends. 
I’ve heard all that. Oh, I know how to get news out of 
men when I want it. I know how to manage them.” 

“Yer little devil!” growled Shadow. “ I tell yer, yer 
tongue is hung too loose fur yer good ! Do I know more 
nor the perlice could find out? Yer’re a perty one, hain’t 
yer ? ” 

“ Morris Underwood,” said Rachel slowly, “we’ll say 
you don’t know any more about Reginald Moreland than 
you say ” 

“ Which bein’ all there is to say, is a smart thing to do,” 
interjected Shadow. 

“We’ll say that’s all you know,” continued Rachel. 
“I don’t feel like talking to-night after all, and you’re too 
full of drink to be in a proper state to listen. You just 
cut in and sleep on my bed and I’ll sit here by the fire. 
Cut along now : that’s a good father for once.” 

Shadow, whose wits and curiosity and apprehensions, 
if he entertained any, were dulled by alcohol, was not 
loath to comply with this request, and slunk back cursing 
about his “ perty darter,” to the bed from which, cursing, 
he had sprung up. In less than three minutes he was 
sleeping heavily. The sound of his labored breathing had 
been audible in the little rooms for scarcely twice that 
time, when there was a light knock at the hall-door. 
Rachel, who was sitting thinking over the fire, called out : 

“Come in ! ” 

In answer to the summons the door slowly opened and 

a head was poked in at it, The head, after it had first 


GUESSWORK. 


129 

peered cautiously about the room, was slowly followed 
by an unostentatious body. Mr. Silas Slack stood 
revealed. 

^ “Good-evening, Miss Underwood,” he said, in his femi- 
nine voice. 

“Well, good-evening,” returned Rachel, “Who are 
you ? ” 

Why, don’t you recollect and remember me, Miss 
Underwood? Don’t you really call me to mind? ” 

“No, I don’t recollect you, nor remember you, nor call 
you to mind. Don’t stand diddling there, but speak out. 
Who are you, and what gives me the bother of seeing you 
at this time of night ? ” 

“Before I reply,” answered Mr. Slack, who, by this 
time had reached Shadow’s vacated chair, “I’ll just be 
seated. So you don’t know me. I supposed of course 
you’d remember me. My name is Slack — Mr. Silas Slack. ” 

“And who and what is Mr. Silas Slack? Come, little 
chap, talk out or I’ll put you out. I’ve got too much to 
think about to be bothered for nothing.” 

“It is not for nothing, Miss Underwood. Let me 
assist your memory by informing you that I am daily en- 
gaged in the office of one Hardangle — commonly known 
as the much respected legal light, Jeremiah Hardangle, 
Esquire. ” 

“And who in the world is the respected Hardangle? 
What can lawyers have to do with me ? ” 

“And you don’t recall Hardangle, either? Is it possi- 
ble ! I will still further aid your memory by informing 
you that you once came into his office and had some con- 
versation with him.” 

“I did? I never was in a lawyer’s office in my life. 
You’ve got the wrong person, this time, so you may just 
as well skip out of here, and leave me to my thinking. ” 

“Really, now, Miss Underwood, excuse me, but you 
are the identical person who came to our office, both in 
name and appearance. It is most extraordinary that you 
don’t recollect Permit me yet again to be of assistance 
9 


I 3° 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


to you, by mentioning that you came to our office — I be- 
ing there at the time — to make inquiries concerning the 
will of one ” 

Here Mr. Slack paused and cocked his ear attentively 
in the direction of the open door of the little bedroom. 

“ Why don’t you go on ? ” a^ked Rachel. 

“I have certain reasons for wishing to be very sure 
that your friend is asleep,” explained Mr. Slack. “I 
should by no means wish him to overhear my remarks.” 

“How do you know he is my friend?” demanded 
Rachel. 

“I do not know it,” returned Mr. Slack. “I merely 
guessed and surmised it from his being here.” 

“ How do you know it’s a him at all ? ” again questioned 
Rachel sharply. 

“A moment, a moment of time, and I will explain all,” 
deprecated the little man. “ The way in which I happen 
to know, is that I followed you both from the saloon 
where you found him and in some way prevailed upon 
him to accompany you. I followed you, not from any 
purpose of observing your actions, but solely for the pur- 
pose of learning your own dwelling-place. I had reasons, 
as you shall in a moment know, for desiring that knowl- 
edge for which I have long been striving. And now, be- 
fore I go on to make known to you aforesaid weighty rea- 
sons, it must be understood, Miss Underwood, that what 
we shall say here shall be considered strictly confidential. 
Before you, as a notary, I do now solemnly swear that all 
you shall say shall be by me considered and held invio- 
lable. Do you do the same before me ? ” 

“Yes, I swear black and blue,” retorted Rachel. 
“Now go on.” 

“ I was saying that you came to our office to learn what 
you could, concerning the last testament of one Reginald 
Moreland.” 

“What! I!” cried Rachel. “Concerning the will of 
Reginald Moreland ! ” 

“You remember now ? ” 


GUESSWORK. 


131 

“ I do not remember any such thing. What do you 
mean ? ” 

“Miss Underwood, this is simply astounding. You 
don’t recollect? ” 

“I say I do not! Tell me again. The will of Regi- 
nald Moreland? ” 

“Yes, the last will and testament, revoking all former 
documents, of Reginald Moreland, Esq., some years since 
mysteriously put out of the way. Let us speak softly, 
Miss Underwood : your friend must not overhear. I 
have reasons.” 

“No danger of him, when he’s once asleep. Don’t stop 
to talk about him. Go on : tell me what I said. I know 
now why I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything 
back there for awhile — everything is a blank. I remem- 
ber doing a certain act — parting with a little thing of 
mine — somewhere in the last part of a certain summer. 
Then I indistinctly remember some other things ; and 
then I don’t remember anything more that happened for a 
long time. But after that time I began to wake up and 
found that I was in a mad-house (where you should have 
looked if you wanted to find me). From there I begin to 
remember again, and after awhile I was let out and came 
here. Goodness gracious ! was I so mad ? Did I come 
and not know it ? But hurry : tell me what I said. ” 

“First, Miss Underwood, you will permit me to say, 
that I see you are cognizant of the aforesaid will ” 

“Say I am, say I am ! ” interrupted Rachel. 

“Yes, we will decide that you are. So much for that. 
Now for number two. Before I repeat to you what you 
said, my honesty compels me to make a little explanation. 
As you probably do not remember, entrance to Hard- 
angle’s main office must be gained through a waiting- 
room which is the scene of my labors. You both spoke so 
loudly that I could not avoid catching much of your con- 
versation. Therefore, I am properly and honestly in pos- 
session of the information you desire. To proceed : you 
acted strangely, but I did not imagine that you were so 


132 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


reduced as your words indicate. I now understand why 
you did not return to the office as I thought you might. In 
short — but I have said enough. You must by this time 
understand the whole thing. Having thus cleared the way, 
I may now state to you that, in a wild and incoherent 
way, you charged the lawyer with having, in some manner 
unmentioned by you, unduly influenced the mind of his 
client, Mr. Moreland, in the matter of his will, so that said 
client transferred certain items from the credit of — I 
hesitate, Miss Underwood. Your words may have been 
dictated not by fact, but by the feverish and fanciful 
creations of a disordered mind.” 

“Did I say all that — did I!” cried Rachel. “And I 
don’t remember a word of it ! I charged him with getting 
it out of him ! ” 

“Such were, in effect, your words ; and I gather from 
your present remark that they were dictated by fact.” 

“Yes, by fact, by fact : you needn’t be so tender. He 
did promise me and he did mean it ! ” 

“No doubt, Miss Underwood; but allow me to inquire 
what your present opinion is concerning the charge you 
preferred against Hardangle. Does your sober view of it 
stand side by side with your less responsible opinion ? 
Let us not speak too loud.” 

“Why, I'm very sure he did mean it. He came to me 
all in a heat, and said he’d guessed the whole thing ” 

“ Which was ? ” interjected Mr. Slack. 

“Well, which was that his son had spoiled me. And 
he declared that the child — having its birth in its way — 
should, at least, have money on its side. I was to get the 
money from him while he lived, and after that from the 
son. Oh, I know he meant it ! But about the lawyer — 
why, I suppose it was nothing but a crazy idea.” 

“Where did you first get the idea, do you suppose?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know. I saw his death in a paper 
one day at a Frenchwoman’s house where I was living. 
Then I remember seeing the will in another paper in a 
saloon, and how the lawyer had got half a million, How 


GUESSWORK. 


*33 

angry I was that there was no mention of the child ! It's 
one of the last things I seem to clearly recollect/’ 

“ Exactly so ! ” cried Mr. Slack, excitedly, his own sus- 
picions now thoroughly aroused. “It was, therefore, 
very natural that it should be in your mind when your 
mind shortly after became disturbed. I see it all. Let 
me say to you, Miss Underwood, that I do now and at 
this present moment hold very much the same opinion 
which you expressed at the time of your call. Allow me 
to show to you a certain bit of paper which I chanced 
upon during the thorough and conscientious discharge 
of my duties in our office. It came into my possession 
yesterday while I was dusting certain little-used law 
books of Hardangle’s. ” 

Mr. Slack drew an old purse from his pocket, and took 
from it a sheet of folded paper, which he handed to his 
companion. Rachel unfolded the paper, but found noth- 
ing upon it except the name Matthew Marsh, written 
again and again, perhaps fifty times. 

“Well, what of this ? ” she inquired. 

“Yes, yes — ah, yes, what of it ? What indeed ! Allow 
and permit me, Miss Underwood, to lead you to what I 
now without doubt consider its meaning. And first, I 
inquire whether it does not seem to you rather a strange 
and unusual occupation for a man, in these busy times, 
to cover a sheet of paper with his own signature ? And 
second, let me beg and beseech that you give your atten- 
tion to another queer feature. Do you not observe that 
the first signature is quite different from the last ? Do 
you not see, as you run your eye down the page, that 
each one becomes more like the last ? Do you not fur- 
ther take note that the first copy was made slowly and 
painfully, and that the last was written with comparative 
speed and certainty ? And from this would you not judge 
it most likely that said form was before the writer’s eye as 
a model ? And should you not also say that said first 
signature being so different from said last they might 
easily have been written by two hands and pens ? ” 


T 3 4 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


Rachel having answered all these questions in the 
affirmative, Mr. Slack proceeded : 

“And now, Miss Underwood, we come to the crowning 
argument in the case. I, Mr. Silas Slack, who have spent 
the cream of my days in the selfsame office, I, being 
who and what I am, do assert and declare that the first 
of those signatures bears a very strong and unmistakable 
resemblance to the handwriting of one Mr. Respected 
Hardangle, and that the last, without doubt, is a very 
exact reproduction of the signature of Matthew Marsh, 
said Hardangle’s brother-in-law.” 

“Well?” inquired Rachel. 

“My charming and delightful partner in this honest 
move against a champion Grinder, I say this is damning ! 
With which assertion you will readily agree when I in- 
form you — I, who have seen the man — that Matthew 
Marsh was one of the witnesses whose names make the 
last will and testament of aforesaid Reginald Moreland a 
legal document ! ” 

“God in heaven ! ” cried Rachel Underwood, springing 
wildly to her feet, as she saw the import of her visitor’s 
words. “A forgery ! You mean that the lawyer forged 
this name and the others too? You mean that? ” 

“I say and assert and swear that I mean nothing else. 
But do speak more softly — I have reasons. And let me 
finish : According to my definite and precise recollection, 
said Marsh and his son, and Hardangle’s brother chanced to 
be in our office upon the very day that Mr. Moreland and 
the lawyer were putting the finishing touches upon the 
former’s will. Old Moreland insisting upon it in his set 
and determined manner, these three men — I observing 
them — became witnesses to the execution of the paper. 
Now, Miss Underwood, that paper was left in Hardangle’s 
safe, and it was, as you see I now believe, destroyed by 
the lawyer and a forged document put in its place.” 

“ The villain ! The villain ! ” exclaimed Rachel, resum- 
ing her seat. 

“Softly, softly !” urged Mr, Slack. “I have reasons. 


GUESSWORK. 


J 35 


And let me go on to a full close. Concerning my finding 
of that paper, I have the theory that, while the old Grinder 
was busy upon his forgeries, he had the very little-used 
book in which I found it lying open upon his desk. He 
laid this paper upon it to take up a new sheet, and then, 
while he has been engaged in perfecting his familiarity 
with this signature and those of the other two witnesses, 
the pages of the book have without his knowledge blown 
over and hidden his evil work. Such, Miss Underwood, 
is the theory to which I give my full and hearty consent. 
You are much excited, my dear partner, much excited : 
have a care to speak softly. I have reasons. ” 

“And I put that notion into your head ! ” cried Rachel, 
in a voice which revealed the timeliness of Mr. Slack's 
warning. “It was I who first roused your suspicions ! 
And the lawyer took advantage of my madness to bluff 
me off! Did I in my mad frenzy accuse him truly ! My 
child was remembered after all ! And yet I don’t seem to 
understand. How would he dare do it? Would not the 
first witnesses know the contents of the will ? ” 

“Miss Underwood, they are each and all of them 
dead ! ” 

“ Oh, the villain ! He waited for them all to die ! ” 
“For all the witnesses — or so I surmise. But be that 
as it may, he did not wait for his friend and client to die. 
The freshness of the ink would have been clearly visible 
had the opening of the document taken place immediately 
after the testator’s disappearance. 

“And now, Miss Underwood, I have taken you into my 
confidence, and you have made my suspicions as good as 
knowledge. We are at present in a position to go for- 
ward together to obtain our full revenge. But before we 
lay our plans, let me make known to you a very strange 
and startling piece of news. It relates to the man now 
lying upon that bed. You knew at the time of your call 
upon Hardangle that Mr. Moreland had been murdered. 
I suppose you are still in possession of this fact. ” 

“I remember it,” assented Rachel, with sudden indiffer- 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


136 

ence. “ But you spoke of the man in yonder : you don’t 
mean to insinuate that he was in the murder.” 

“ Oh, Miss Underwood ! I must beg and crave that you 
speak more softly. I have a reason. That man lying 
there asleep once cautioned me that I should not make this 
present theme the staple of my talk and conversation. To 
proceed. I do not insinuate any such thing as you hinted at. 
But you know as well as I that Reginald Moreland was put 
out of the way by a villain ” (Mr. Slack was now fairly whis- 
pering) “ whose common name and designation was Bags. 
Now, Miss Underwood, that said Bags had a friend and 
accomplice who was much associated with him in dark 
deeds. That accomplice (do not exclaim, Miss Under- 
wood) was the same and identical man that now lies 
asleep in the next ” 

“And his name is Shadow,” coolly interposed Rachel, 
immensely to Mr. Slack’s astonishment. “Ah, yes, I see 
plainly your reason for fear of being overheard. And 
were I in your case — I am free to say — I should be of your 
mind. I really can’t blame you. So you know my friend, 
as you called him.” 

“ Honesty forces and compels me,” replied Mr. Slack, 
endeavoring to recover from his astonishment. “I do. 
Am I to infer, my charming partner, that my news was no 
news to you ? ” 

“You are to infer just what you please,” retorted 
Rachel in a voice which seemed to indicate anything but 
a charming business outlook for her partner. 

“I trust that you are not angered,” put in Mr. Slack 
hurriedly. “If Shadow is really a friend of yours, I 
crave that anything I may have said concerning him, may 
be overlooked in the interests of this undertaking. And 
now, Miss Underwood, what do you counsel and advise, 
what are our plans ? ” 

“What are our plans, Mr. Slack? I don’t know what 
yours may be, but my first and only one for the present 
is to be left to myself immediately.” 

“Really, now, my partner, you do seem offended.” 


GUESSWORK. 


J 37 


“ I am not.” 

“Then your words are most surprising. I expected 
you would be only too glad to plan revenge. Do you not 
see and realize that we have a man of wealth in our 
hands ? ” 

* ‘ What I see, Mr. Slack, I see — and what I don’t see, I don’t. 
At present all I see is you sitting in my way. Out of that 
way I bid you get. But before you go, I want to say two 
things to you. First : One week from to-night, at nine 
o’clock, I want to see you again. Second : if during the 
time between now and then you use your knowledge 
upon the lawyer, I shall find it out, and Shadow shall 
find it out. Now, go ! ” 

“Really, Miss ” 

“ Never mind about your reallies : I want to think.” 

“But partners, Miss ” 

“Go, I say ! or I’ll wake ” 

But before Rachel had finished, her little visitor had 
precipitately departed. 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


I3 8 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE TANGLED WEB. 

As Silas Slack pursued his homeward way rubbing 
his dazed brow, Rachel again settled herself before her 
meagre fire, and was soon lost in thought. 

“ Six-and-twenty I am this night — and what years have 
they been, what years ! Pleasant enough and sweet 
enough in the early days, and then burning and bitter as 
Hell ! First, father goes wrong, and mother cries ; then, 
Willie goes wrong, and she cries again ; then, Rachel — 
her last hope — goes wrong, too, and no doubt she cried 
again. Oh, oh ! my heart aches and is sick ! How I 
have fallen ! What a wreck I am ! The offscouring of 
a mad-house, an outcast, a harlot, a companion to those 
rats and that murderer ! I — I — is this I, or is it some one 
else ! It seems as if it were both at once. I am myself and 
I am a wreck of myself. And what shall I do ? Oh, 
what ! Shall I break with the past ? Shall I make a new 
start, as Robert said ? Shall I go where I am not known 
and begin a fresh, clean life ? Shall I ? What giddy mad- 
ness ! I commence again ! I throw aside the past ! 
As easily might I throw aside myself : the past is myself. 
No, no, no ! They’d put me back in the mad-house for a 
fool if I should try that. Rachel Underwood respected, 
set by, loved? Oh, my, oh, my! But enough of such 
nonsense. The past holds me and I love it while I 
loathe it — and I will cling to it ! ... . Well, that 
little idiot piped out some strange things, I declare. 
If he’d felt the way he feels now, he’d have kept them to 
himself. With all his talk he was too much afraid of the 
lawyer to move without me in the matter, and that’s the 
whole reason of his coming here. One thing is pretty 


THE TANGLED WEB. 


*39 


certain, and that is that he’ll keep it to himself now so far 
as the lawyer is concerned. He’s as much afraid of 
Shadow as he would be of death itself, and who can 
blame him, as they’re much the same* thing. So you think 
Bags had the whole thing to himself, do you, my shrill little 
partner ? And you think that your boss patiently waited for 
him to kill his man ? Slack, my friend, those are your opin- 
ions, are they ? You’re a little keen, there’s no denying, but 
those ideas are all bosh ! And in the whole wide world I’m 
the only one who knows they’re bosh. Little you know 
why I became so suddenly indifferent : little you guessed 
what I had discovered from your talk. Oh, but I see it all 
now ! It was funny that I should have traced them to their 
den the very night before the murder, though I little 
thought they were in for a murder then. It was funny and 
yet it wasn’t, either, for I thought perhaps father could tell 
me where Willie was, and I thought Willie could help me 
out of the awful fix I was in. Little did Shadow and Bags 
know that I saw their cops’ clothes through the crack, 
and that I overheard their dark talk about their five hun- 
dred apiece, and I afraid to go in afterward for fear they’d 
suspect me and do me on the spot. No, I didn’t suspect 
any murder then ; but afterwards at the Madame’s, when 
I read how Mr. Moreland had been fixed and how Bags 
had been found in officer’s blues, — oh, I saw all through 
the murder then. And now little Slack has given me the 
forgery, and I see the whole thing ! Morris Underwood, 
wait till morning ! And you, Mr. Lawyer Hardangle, you 
murdering wretch, till I see my way clear, and I swear 
you’ll swing for that. Ah, you black hypocrite ! no one 
suspects such as you. Oh, no ! I’d rather trust myself 
to Shadow and Bags any day than to such as you. Wait 
my time, wait my time ! It will be hard for Robert to 
come. He seems to have given all my love to her — curse 
her fine eyes ! Still he’s got to, and then I’ll teach him to 
love the child — he don’t want even to think of it now. I 
told him it was a girl : it’s just as safe in case of anything 
happening. Dear, dear, but won’t it be nice to have a 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


140 

fine house of my own for myself and my child. And if 
Robert won’t live in New York, which I suppose he won’t 
(he always said we’d live somewhere else), why, she shall 
know just the same that I am Robert’s wife and my boy 
is his child, and that she hasn’t beaten me with her eyes. 
And my eyes are as handsome as hers. Robert said 
they were as they were made, and I know what that 
means. Oh, he won’t be ashamed of my looks when we 
drive out together ! I’ll just get the glass and have a 
look at them now.” 

And, suiting the action to the word, poor, deluded 
Rachel crept to her washstand, procured the bit of broken 
mirror, and holding the dim light in one hand and the 
glass in the other, sat admiringly staring into her eyes, 
did this poor, deluded Rachel. 

Leaving her to stare to her heart’s content and then to 
fall asleep in her chair for a troubled doze until morning, 
let us return to Robert Moreland. After parting from 
Rachel at the City Hall, he wandered heavily about the 
streets, too stunned to think clearly, too overwrought to 
trust himself in his wife’s presence. The most he could 
do was to strive to banish from his face, as thoroughly as 
he might, its pale haggard look. Not that he was appre- 
hensive of raising his wife’s suspicions, he knew her nature 
and the nobleness of her love too well for that, but he 
dreaded the awkwardness of presenting himself before her 
in such a condition. His efforts were reasonably success- 
ful, the very exigency of the case serving to steady his 
nerves, yet it was with a sinking heart that he turned his 
steps towards home, and again stood before his own door. 
Florence opened it before he could use his key. 

“I knew you would be awaiting me,” he said. “ Have 
you been worried almost to death ? ” 

“I have worried some,” replied Florence. “But, my 
dear, you do look so tired and worried 1 Has anything 
happened ? Was your engagement more unpleasant than 
you anticipated, just as it was more prolonged?” 

“Yes, the business was much more disagreeable than 


THE TANGLED WEB. 


141 

I expected ; but besides that nothing has occurred, and you 
must not worry. I fear, Florence, if ever anything should 
happen to me, it would be more disastrous to you than to 
myself/’ 

“I think it would,” returned Florence. “Indeed, I 
know that I could suffer pain or distress far more bravely 
for myself than for you. But now let me get you a glass 
of wine and something to eat.” 

“As thoughtful at midnight as at midday,” said Robert 
warmly. “No, I am in no mood for eating or drinking 
to-night : I am too full of something else. And now, Flor- 
ence, you must not delay a moment longer, not only on 
your account, but on mine as well. I have some hard think- 
ing and planning to do yet on this affair, and if I don’t get 
at it I sha’n’t get a wink of sleep before daylight.” 

“And you are so tired now ! Surely I have no need to 
fear that you are keeping this from me on my own account, 
Robert ! You know my love and the unpleasantness of 
suspense too well for that.” 

“ Certainly I do,” rejoined Robert. “ You may be sure 
I place no such weak estimate on your love.” 

“Robert, forgive me, but are you treating me right? 
I am your wife and I long to be of assistance to you in 
this matter. Unless, therefore, it is of some very peculiar 
nature, I ought, I have the right to know it.” 

“My dear,” said Robert with words dictated by a deep 
and cunning knowledge of his wife’s nature, “I forgive 
you.” 

Florence Moreland was crushed by the insidious rebuke. 

“Forgive me ! ” she cried. “I know that your secrecy 
is prompted only by your love and best judgment. I 
spoke under the impulse of my intense desire to help 
you. ” 

“Do not ask me to forgive you,” responded Robert, re- 
morseful as soon as he had gained his point. “I am even 
unworthy that you should sin against me. Forgive me 
for my mean words. And now I must be at my thinking.” 

As his wife passed upstairs, Robert followed her with 


142 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


a look of inexpressible pity and anguish, and then turning 
into his “ den,” sank down into an arm-chair and tried to 
look calmly and soberly into his own mind. 

The mind of a man — what a wondrous spot ! What 
a Titan’s cave, what a fairy palace, what a magician’s 
laboratory ! How shall it be adequately described ? 
By what power can the airy and tenuous cob-webery of 
thought be made to take on visible form ? How shall 
the nimble and elusive ideas of a man be detained long 
enough to give an account of themselves ? What charm 
shall call from their hiding-places the crowded images 
lurking in the dark corners of the brain ? 

The mind of a man — to what shall it be compared ? 
The boundless sea, sleeping peacefully beneath the fan- 
nings of the breath of summer, knows not its eternal calms. 
The frothy deep, lashed to fury by the gale, and tossing 
up its mad billows to the stars, is no fit emblem of the 
wild commotion which the gales of passion and the storms 
of circumstance, raise within it. The limitless arch of 
heaven’s blue, beaming benignly upon the budding spring- 
time, and the bellowings of the thunder that roars out of 
the blackness of the midnight tempest — these are not the 
parallels of the mind’s extremities. Infinite in its aspira- 
tions toward good, infinite in its degradations to evil ; 
the throne which shapes all empires and all destinies, the 
sink whence proceed all confusions and anarchies ; un- 
changeable by all the powers of heaven and hell, but 
turned by the slightest gust of passion ; infinite in its 
hopes, infinite in its fears ; infinite in its loves, infinite in 
its hates — the mind of man is without bound and without 
parallax. 

Into such a miraculous spot as this, Robert Moreland 
essayed to look. And loud and fierce enough was the 
wild storm which he saw ragingthere. It was some time 
before the black storm-clouds cleared away sufficiently to 
allow him any distinct vision of the images obscured by 
them. But when, at length, he was able to formulate a 
train of connected thought, it took somewhat this shape : 


THE TANGLED WEB. 


U3 


“Oh, Florence, Florence, Florence, what have I done ! 
What, oh, what ! Oh, my poor, dear, brave girl ! Do 
you think I did not see how eagerly you longed to know 
what my trouble was ? Do you think I did not realize 
your superb self-control and strong determination not to 
give rein to your emotions ? Oh, my wife, my wife, there 
never was a woman with such a soldier’s heart ! And it 
is mine, O God ! utterly, almost madly, mine. And what 
am I that I should be the object of supreme devotion to 
such a heart ? Oh', vile and wretched hypocrite, how 
would she loathe me, if she knew all ! Alas ! what a 
blind villain I was. I did not think, then, that it was so 
bad. I imagined, so far as I imagined anything, that I 
was only sowing wild oats. I was sowing the wind, and 
am in a fair way to reap the whirlwind ! Rachel is 
as determined as death ! She will not be bought, she will 
not be turned aside from her purpose. My God ! must I 
face such a situation ! Must I turn myself to such a fear- 
ful alternative ! Is there no escape ? Is there no way 
out of this dreadful, devilish snare in which I am en- 
tangled ? She hates Florence — her hate is as bitter as 
death — and who can blame her ? Who can blame her 
that she thinks Florence has supplanted her ? Who can 
blame her that she thinks she has been robbed by Florence’s 
beauty ? Rachel first, and Florence second ! O merciful 
heaven ! that was the order ! Ah, how my honeyed words 
of sin and deception well up now like a bitter, baneful 
fountain within me. Is it possible that I could leave one 
in broken-hearted tears and go smiling to the other? 
What sort of man am I with my one part of goodness and 
my other part of baseness ? I am a puzzle to myself — I 
am a very devil’s puzzle ! I commit a bad action, then 
admit to myself that it is bad, do something good and 
kind which eases my conscience, and afterwards forget 
about the evil and begin to think I am quite blameless. 
Ah, what a smooth-spoken hypocrite ! How I can de- 
ceive ! And all because I almost delude myself, and 
speak out of a sense of real worthiness. When I deceive 


144 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


(though I never tell a downright lie), as I have deceived my 
darling to-night — dastardly thought ! — it does not appear 
to me like another man’s deception, like shielding a vil- 
lain, but rather like keeping back knowledge which would 
create a false impression regarding one who has indeed 
his weak moments, but who in the main leads a pure 
and blameless life. Ah, what a cursed, double, sneaking 
nature I possess ! Florence, Florence, why did you love 
me ! But I know why. I showed you only my best side. 
Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite ! 

‘ ‘And now — what ? The rank offence has been committed, 
the wind has been sown, the harvest time has come. Now 
what ? The prospect distracts me : I can scarcely look 
upon it sanely. Yet I must think carefully and soberly — 
for my sake, for Rachel’s sake, most of all for her sake. 
This snare which has been so skilfully set and in which I 
am so helplessly struggling — how shall I extricate myself 
from it ? My God, how ! Put Rachel out of the way ? 
That, of course, is not in the question. I’m not a murderer. 
Have her locked away in some private asylum? That's 
more thinkable ; and yet even if I could accomplish it with 
that Shadow for her friend, and if it could be done in such 
a way as to prevent her spreading her story, I could not 
endure the thought of her being locked up day after day 
for no fault of hers, but only for my own, which has already 
brought ruin and desolation to her once happy heart. Oh, 
I could not do that — I could not ! It were too cruel, too 
cruel after all the bitter anguish I have inflicted upon her. 
Oh, wretch, wretch, wretch, that I am ! But I must be 
calm and see what remains. One of three courses. Either 
I must lay my hand upon my own life, or I must go to 
Rachel and flee with her, or I must stay by Florence and 
expose myself or be exposed. There is no other path ! I 
could not escape with Florence and Rex to some other 
clime : that is quite out of the question. In the first place, 
I could give no reason for leaving my business, my friends, 
and all my associations. In the second place, Rachel, in 
her baffled anger, would hunt out my friends and learn 


THE TANGLED WEB. 


I4S 

where Florence could be reached by letter, or else she 
would disclose my secret to them and so accomplish her 
end. No, there is no other alternative. God above ! the 
awful choice is before me. Murder myself; go to Rachel 
and disappear in mystery, and hide my shame in foreign 
lands; stay by Florence, with what blasting, blood-chill- 
ing consequences ! Oh, oh, oh ! was ever a man in such 
a maddening plight before ! Must I decide ? Must I 
choose? Yes, yes, and that to-night. Go down into a 
suicide’s grave and meet a suicide’s Judge ? Hang myself, 
drown myself, poison myself ? Rush, bloody-handed, out 
of the world? Ah, I could not do that. I could not do it 
for my own sake, and I certainly could not do it for Flor- 
ence’s sake. Leave her thus suddenly and awfully, to 
lament my death, perhaps to bury my violated body? 
Leave her, under such terrible conditions, alone, alone, 
alone ! That were cruelty indeed. Oh, my Florence, 
could anything be more dreadful for you than that ? How 
I can see you even now begging and beseeching me with 
bitterest tears not to allow such a fearful, damning act a 
moment’s room in my heart. No, no, no ! I could not 
do it. But what is left ? Only the choice between those 
two horrid alternatives — flight with Rachel, or exposure by 
her. I could not flee alone : that would be almost as 
cruel as the other. Leave Rachel behind to torment my 
wife ? Leave Florence to undergo all sorts of insult and 
extortion to shield my name ? Oh, no. If I flee Rachel 
must go with me. And so which shall I choose, which 
oh, which ! Could I flee with Rachel ? Laying aside its 
torture and ignominy to myself and all other outside con- 
siderations, could I flee with her taking Florence only into 
the account ? Married to Florence and living with another ? 
Joined in the most holy ties to my own dear wife, and at 
the same time to a harlot of the street ! Ah, Florence, 
could I do that? Hypocritical as I have been towards 
you and base and unworthy as I am, could I do that — 
sink so low ? I could not, I could not ! My great love 
for you, my every instinct of manhood revolts against 
io 


146 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


such a course. No, no ! You would sooner see me dead 
than that. 

“And so I have excluded one thing after another, until 
logically my choice is made. I have nothing left but to 
open my heart to my wife. And that is the course you 
would bid me pursue. Yes, my poor unsuspecting wife, 
the choice to which I have narrowed myself and the course 
which you would entreat me to take, are one and the 
same. But if I comply, what will be the result ? Oh, hid- 
eous, tormenting thought ! Could I live and see the look, 
first of astonishment, then of incredulity, then of blighting 
disappointment ^nd blinding anguish which would cruelly 
distort your loving and trustful face ? Oh, could I endure 
to see the knowledge that I, this very Christmas night, had 
been reaping a harvest of infamy, slowly dawn upon your 
stifled heart? Could I brokenly inform you that it was the 
husband whom you think so charitable and kind that 
ruined Rex’s pretty lady ! Could I tell you that I had been 
unclean, and not die from shame and confusion ? Oh, my 
love, my love, how could I rudely crush your perfect, 
divine trust in me ! The very idea is enough to wrench 
my heart asunder : what, then, would the reality be ! 

“But what shall I do ? Shall I follow the voice of duty ? 
Go to her as she lies there more and more anxious each 
moment, and stand before that face and look into those 
eyes and condemn myself, blacken myself ! My shame 
and anguish would kill me, and the sight of her face, swept 
with burning pain, would punish me after death. And that 
is my true course ! O merciful God ! that is my true course. 
Go to her, go to her? I cannot, I cannot ! I shall go 
mad in this hellish trap which, all unsuspectingly, I laid for 
my feet. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot ! Shall I flee after 
all ? Shall I be a dastardly coward and hide my head and 
flee from the result of my own act, and leave her who is 
dearer to me than a thousand lives, exposed to wicked in- 
trigues and unmerited contempt? Or, shall I take Rachel 
and become dead to all sense of decency and right and 
the sacredness of my love ? O my God, my punishment 


THE TANGLED WEB. 


147 


is greater than I can bear ! Why have I not died before ? 
Why did Florence consent to marry me? Why was I 
born for such a fate ? Why was I given a nature to pro- 
duce such results ? What shall I do, what shall I do ! My 
head is beginning to whirl. There is the clock striking 
two, and I know Florence is half wild with anxiety. I 
must decide, I must decide, and I cannot ! I must act 
and I dare not ! Oh, pitiful Heaven ! my head is burst- 
ing ! Oh, my head, my head ! One more question to 
decide would drive me mad ! ” 

And so the wild storm swept on and howled madly 
through this brain. Now it overwhelmingly carried all 
before it, now its fury fell, and reason asserted itself. The 
clock on the stairs struck three. One, two, three — how 
weird and prophetic it sounded ! Was the time mad ? Was 
it, too, driven on headlong by the gale ? One, two, three — 
and still the tempest raged without abatement. Both love 
and duty demanded his laying bare the past to his wife’s 
view. A hundred times he argued himself back to this con- 
clusion. And just so often his soul would cry out: “I 
cannot, I cannot ! ” The case was desperate. He could 
leave Florence alone no longer. He rose from the chair 
which he had not once forsaken, but fell back from sheer 
exhaustion and giddiness. Again he rose, and this time 
retained his feet. He was still undecided! Turning out 
the. gas, he passed into the hall. His face as he approached 
the mirror frightened him. His wife must not have the 
opportunity to observe it closely. He mounted the stairs : 
the light was dim in her room. Without turning it higher 
he went and sat upon the bed. 

“My love, ” he said, ‘ ‘ have you not been asleep at all ? ” 
“No, Robert. Is your mind more easy? I fear you 
have completely exhausted yourself.” 

“ I have reached no satisfactory conclusion, my poor 
girl, but I see my way more clearly. And now you must 
try to catch some rest before morning.” 

“I shall sleep best when I know that you are asleep, 
Robert.” 

And the old clock on the stairs struck four. 


148 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

The next morning, Rachel Underwood opened her eyes 
shortly after the first cheerless rays of the morning had, 
with some difficulty, found their way to the rear of the 
tenement and forced a passage through her single streaked 
window. She rubbed her eyes, drew her shawl more 
tightly around her, gave the drowsy fire a poke, and, by 
the time her father awoke, had ready for him a pot of 
black, hot tea. 

“ Here, father,” she said, placing a cup of the tea upon 
the unsteady little table by the side of half a loaf of bread, 
“ here’s your breakfast. The bread is a little old and dry, 
but the tea is strong and boiling. ” 

“Seems yer kin be half-decent, if yer try,” grunted 
Shadow, rather softening under the fragrant odor of the 
steaming tea. “What’s this here knife fur ? ” 

“Why, to cut your bread with, of course.” 

“Pshaw ! that’s fur too high-flied, fur me. I carries my 
own little conweniences about me. There ! There’s the 
boy fur bread.” And Shadow hauled from his pocket an 
evil-looking clasp-knife, and gave it a turn or two upon 
his left sleeve. “Yes, it do seem as yer kin act respec- 
terble-like, when yer has the mind. ” 

“Oh, I’ll be good to you, father, as long as I have you, 
but I have to know you, you know, or else I couldn’t do 
anything 'with you. Here, here’s a drop of brandy for 
your tea.” 

By this time, Shadow had sliced off a liberal chunk of 
bread, and was ready to soak it in his tea. But the added 
liquor quite overcame his immediate desire for food, and 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


149 


raising the cup to his lips, he poured the beverage down 
his throat at a single gulp, waiving the ceremony of 
swallowing. Rachel refilled and re-flavored the cup, and 
as she placed it again upon the table, she remarked : 

“I'm glad you like it, father, and I’m glad you think 
I’m good to you, because I ain’t quite through asking 
you questions. And, being in a better humor, you’ll feel 
more like answering them.” 

‘ ‘ Now, don’t yer go and spile everythin’ by quizzing 
at me again. Now don’t, you Rach.” 

“I ain’t going to spoil anything, father. If anything’s 
spoiled it will be you that does' it. And, to tell the truth, 
I ain’t going to ask you a question, anyhow. I’m just go- 
ing to tell you that something you said last night, has come 
true. I’ll give you another cup, father. It’ll warm you 
up a bit. ” 

“Now, why not shet yer talk right there, you Rach. 
Why not let it rest, and not run no risk of spilen things ? 
Why not have everythin’ pleasant ? ” 

“ I ain’t wanting to make anything unpleasant, father. 
I say it sha’n’t be me. But I’m going to tell you that one 
saying of yours has come true. You said that the first 
thing I knew, I’d be saying you croaked old Moreland 
yourself. Well, I say it now ; or that you did half of it ! ” 

“Yer unnat’ral hussy ! I’ll knife yer if yer don’t shet 
up sech poll-parrotin’ ! ” 

“Father,” continued Rachel, paying no heed to the ruf- 
fian’s threat, and keeping her eyes fixed intently upon his 
face that its slightest change of expression might not escape 
her, “water will drown a man, won’t it ?” 

“ What if water will drown a man ? I wish as it would 
drown someshes, too.” 

“ And water will drown a lich man as well as a poor 
one, won’t it ? ” 

“ Shet yer head, will ye ! ” 

“Father, do you suppose a rich man will float better 
than a poor one ? It’s odd, ain’t it, that when rich men 
are thrown into water by dark, they always float away, 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


I 5° 

but poor men who throw them in, float right along 
shore ? ” 

1 1 Shet yer head, I say 1 ” 

“ Father, lawyers are nice men, ain’t they?” 

“What do I know about lawyers, I’d like ter know ! ” 
growled Shadow, but in spite of his dogged determination 
visibly starting. “What have we got ter do with each 
other ? Oh, you jade ! ” 

“ Father, lawyers are good, respectable men, ain’t 
they ? Do you suppose they could be so bad as to 
get a man killed for money? Really, it don’t hardly seem 
likely, does it ? ” 

Shadow looked up from his bread and tea, his face black 
with passion. 

“Yer sneakin’ devil !” he cried. “Won’t yer shet up? 
Will yer be a-spyin’ into my concerns? Blast yer ! ” And 
with a terrible oath, he flung his knife viciously at his 
daughter’s face. The murderous blade whizzed past her 
head and stuck quivering in the casement. 

“There, now, father, you’re forgetting yourself. Re- 
member, I know ” 

“Yer know!” roared Shadow. “Yer knows what’ll 
do yer, yet ! I wish it had o’ hit yer, yer pryin’ minx ! ” 

“There, there,” urged Rachel, coolly drawing the knife 
from the casement and replacing it by her father’s hand 
on the table. “You see I’m not afraid of you. Have an 
eye to your actions, or I’ll give you up to-day. My eyes 
weren’t made to be stuck full of knife-blades. But you 
didn’t answer my question. Do you think that any 
real respectable lawyer would hire two men — two part- 
ners, perhaps — to dress up in cops’ clothes and do such 
a dirty piece of work as kill another man ? ” 

“ Give me ther bottle ! ” cried Shadow. 

“No, father.” 

“Give it to me, I say ! ” 

“Not another drop.” 

“Won’t yer, yer miserable stiff-necked mule! I say 
yer will mind yer father ! ” 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


I S I 

Shadow rose and made a grab at the black bottle. His 
daughter was too quick for him. Before he could seize 
it, she had dashed it to pieces against the stove. 

“ Hell fire ! ” cried the enraged man. “Do I set here 
and hear yer talk that way ? I'll larn yer to diserbey yer 
father ! ” 

So saying, the felon lifted his great fist and struck his 
daughter an unrestrained blow on the side of the head. 
The blow sent her sprawling into the corner. She did not 
cry for help. She uttered no shriek of pain. She merely 
rose and fixed her dark glance fearlessly upon her father’s 
steely eye. 

“M’orris Underwood!” she said slowly, “touch me 
once more and you’ll never touch me again ! You called 
me a spy. So let it be ! How did I learn that Jeremiah 
Hardangle hired Shadow and Bags to do his dirty work on 
Reginald Moreland ? What proofs have I got ? I’ll not 
tell you. But there’s one thing I will tell you, and that is, 
if you forget yourself again, I’ll give you up for the mur- 
derer you are ; and you’ll hang up in the prison-yard till 
your face is black and your eyes burst out of your head. 
Strike your daughter ! ” 

Shadow had resumed his chair while his daughter had 
been speaking. As she closed her damning words, his 
hand, trembling with anger, again fiercely seized his 
knife. 

“Lay it down, father,” said Rachel calmly. “It’s of 
no use against me. Drive that into my throat and you’re 
cooked forever. Listen, Morris Underwood ! I am not 
the only one who knows you /” 

“I’ll slit that Moreland one, too ! ” cried Shadow. 

“That Moreland one knows no more about you than a 
dozen others, ” replied his daughter. 

“ Who then ? ” demanded the ruffian. 

“ My business,” returned Rachel. 

“Tell me, dash you ! ” growled Shadow, flourishing his 
knife. 

“ When I’m so sappy as not to be my father’s daughter,” 




WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


responded Rachel coolly. “No, no, father; don't try to 
work me : you can’t." 

“ Give up yer proofs, yer devil’s brat ! ” ordered the 
villain. ‘ * Squeal, or I’ll knife yer if the hull world knows ! ’’ 

‘ ‘ Knife away, ’’ retorted Rachel, quite undisturbed. “You 
can’t scare me that way. I’ve known the bad ones much 
too long to turn faint at the sight of a knife, even if it is 
in your hand. ’’ 

“Yer have, have yer, yer spyin’ minx ! ” exclaimed the 
angry and disturbed murderer. “Yer ain’t afraid of yer 
father, hey ? Damn yer ! I’ll learn yer manners, yer imp 
of Satan." 

The cursing desperado sprang from his seat, turned the 
key in the door, and leaped upon his defenseless daugh- 
ter. Holding her fast by the head with his powerful arm, 
he bent back her neck and raised his knife aloft. 

“ Now will yer squeal? " he hissed. 

“ Hold on, father ! ” 

“ Hold on the devil ! I thought I’d larn yer. Now spit 
it out — and quick ! ” 

“ Stick that knife into me and you swing." 

“Swing till I rot, I’ll kill yer if yer don’t give up the 
proofs ! ” 

“ Kill on then, for I won’t.” 

“Curse yer, yer will!" hoarsely cried the murderer, 
giving his victim a rough shake and lowering the uplifted 
knife until it pricked his daughter’s throat. “Quick ! or 
I’ll fix yer by all the devils in hell ! ” 

“Stick it in, father." 

It was of no use : his daughter was too many for him. 
Cursing afresh, he threw her from him and again resumed 
his chair at the little table. 

“ I didn’t quite think you would," she said. “And now 
that you’ve done your worst, we might as well just have 
a little understanding and settle the matter up. I’m pretty 
good stuff, ain’t I, father ? " 

“Yer’re a cursed, spyin’ jade!” snarled the cowed 
ruffian. 


FA THER AMD DA UGH TER, 


I 53 


*‘Bad names won’t help you,” Rachel went on. “Bad 
names won’t hurt anybody. If they would I’d been dead 
long ago. Now see here, father : you haven’t treated me 
very well this morning, have you? You know, if you 
got your dues, I’d send you right up to the Tombs. But 
I m your daughter, if you don’t like me, and as long as 
you behave I don’t say you’ve got anything to be afraid 
of. You ain’t a quarter as much to blame as that old 
hypocrite that hired you — curse him ! So it’s not my inten- 
tion to give you up myself, and it is my intention to stand 
between you and such as have got proof. ” 

Shadow, who had been sullenly glaring at the floor while 
his daughter had been speaking, suddenly raised his eyes 
and intently studied her face. 

“Yer ain’t a trickin’ me, are yer, Rach?” he said. 
“ Yer ain’t gamin’ yer father ? ” 

“No, I ain’t telling you anything but the truth,” respond- 
ed Rachel. “I’m going to stand by you, and as long as 
I do you’re safe. ” 

“And yer and that there Moreland one wasn’t hatchin’ 
up no tricks to play off on me ? I don’t twig onto that 
Moreland fellow’s bein’ here.” 

“No, no tricks, father. That Moreland was here on 
other business. Your hat’s there on the shelf. But you 
don’t need to hurry. It ain’t likely we’ll meet very soon 
again — perhaps never.” 

“Are yer goin’ to skip, Rach ? ” 

“Going to skip, father, unless something happens.” 

“ Goin’ far, you ? ” 

“ Mostlike.” 

“Andyer’re cock-sure as yer kin stand betwixt them 
as has the proofs and me ? ” 

“Cock-sure, father.” 

“Ye’re a good ’un, then, you Rach, considerin’ every- 
thing.” 

By this time Shadow had reached the door and unlocked 
it. As he opened it and pulled his greasy hat close down 
over his eyes, his daughter stopped him. Crossing the 


*54 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


forlorn room to where he stood, she placed a hand on 
each of his arms, and said, looking up into his face with 
an expression in which repugnance and hope and mem- 
ories of brighter days and an almost vanished affection 
and passion and remorse were all inextricably mingled : 

“Father, you were going without telling me good-bye, 
and you haven’t seen me in so long a time before, and 
aren’t likely to see me for a longer time ahead. We’ve led 
strange lives, haven’t we, father? ’’ 

Shadow made no response, but his face betrayed his 
surprise at Rachel’s action and words. 

“Yes, strange lives,” Rachel repeated. “And now 
we’re going apart, perhaps for good. But you are my 
father, Morris Underwood, and I am going to do it.” 

So saying, Rachel raised herself upon her tiptoes, and 
before her father divined her intention had drawn down 
his face to hers and kissed it. 

“Good-bye, father.” 

Shadow grunted out something quite unintelligible, and 
shaking his daughter off, started down the stairs. Rachel 
watched him disappear in the dark well below her, and 
then turned back into her apartments, murmuring to her- 
self : 

“Strange lives, Morris Underwood. Strange lives, 
Shadow. Strange, strange lives, father of this wicked, 
scheming Rachel.” 

And Rachel replaced the teapot on the fire and took 
down the other half of Shadow’s loaf from its place on the 
shelf. 


“/ WILL BE REVENGED.' 


*55 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ I WILL BE REVENGED. ” 

“ Does your difficulty seem to press as heavily as ever ? ” 
asked Mrs. Moreland at the breakfast-table next looming. 

“It presses very heavily, ” answered Robert; “but I 
feel as if I had cleared my way a little, at least, by my 
night of thought. Oh, Florence, you do look so troubled ! 
And it is not your anxiety alone that is causing you pain : 
it is your ignorance of the subject that is weighing upon 
me. Do you think I do not see your unshakable resolu- 
tion not to yield to your inclinations and increase my dis- 
quietude by questions and appeals ? Ah, I see and I 
know full well the strength and wealth of a love that 
prompts such self-forgetfulness. ,, 

“ It requires no great strength to trust you, Robert, and 
I beg you not to distress yourself because you find it 
wisest and best to keep your own counsels in this matter. 
Your judgment is my inclination. What a heart is yours, 
my Robert ! You have no thought for yourself and that it 
is as hard for you to hide the matter from me as it is for 
me to be in ignorance of it. No, my husband, it requires 
little strength to trust in you.” 

“Not for you, Florence. It is the physician’s aphor- 
ism : The strong know not of their strength : the healthy 
know not their health.” 

“Whatever it is,” replied Florence, “it seems to me 
that it would be almost as easy to doubt God himself. 
Why, if all the good men in the city should come to me 
and charge you with some unworthy action, I should be 
perfectly sure you could explain it to my satisfaction.” 

Poor Robert ! If his offence had seemed rank in the 
presence of Rachel Underwood’s wrecked life and angry 


Where the tides meet 


* 5 6 

hate, it smelt to heaven in the presence of his wife’s pure 
and fervent love. And yet, this very love which caused his 
wretched secret to eat into his heart like acid, rendered 
all other solutions of his dilemma besides opening his in- 
most soul to his wife’s inspection, absolutely inconceiv- 
able. He must do that which he knew she would wish 
him to do. Yes, the only way out of the toils in which 
sin and intrigue had tangled his feet, was now doubly . 
clear to him. Come what might — he must tell Florence 
all! 

Robert naturally was in no mood for business. One 
sickening thought held possession of his heart and m ind, and 
no stir and bustle of trade could drive it out. Everything 
seemed vocal with his distress. “She would not have 
loved you, had she known,” squeaked the pulleys as they 
hoisted their great bundles of leather to the second and 
third floors of the store. “ It would break her heart if she 
knew,” scratched his pen as it hurried nervously to the 
end of some letter of business. “You have a first and 
you have a second,” rumbled the trucks as they backed 
up to the curb to be loaded and unloaded. And yet there 
was no escape. He must tell Florence, and he must tell 
her immediately — and he would. He would go to Rachel 
that very night, and announce his decision. And the 
child ! How, O pitying Heaven, could he tell Florence 
about the child ! How could he make known to her that 
he had had no thought or care for it — had not even taken 
the trouble to wonder whether it were alive or dead ? And 
it was his child — the child of her husband that he had 
treated so! Oh, appalling, maddening reflection ! Would 
it not be a shock as terrible as that which had laid his 
mother low ? If it did not break her heart, would it not 
break her love ? Could she forgive him ? Could she be- 
lieve that he loved her — had loved her at the time of their 
marriage ? Would she still cling to his better side ? The 
knowledge of what he had been and done would be, in all 
soberness, more bitter to her than the intelligence of his 
sudden death. The dishonor of his sin against Rachel, 


/ WILL BE REVENGED: 


*57 


the brutishness of his thoughtlessness concerning his 
child — she would have chosen death for him a thousand 
times. And yet the more he thought of it the more firm 
grew his conviction that she would not, could not, cast 
him off. Her love was too deep and all-absorbing for 
that. Even murder itself she had felt could not quench 
her love. Staggering as would be the revelation of his 
guilt, her love was so all-pervasive, that it must forgive 
even the peculiar heinousness of his transgression. More- 
over, he had no choice : it was a decision between death 
and hell. 

With such thoughts as these the slow-paced day dragged 
itself to a close. Again and again and yet again his bur- 
dened mind and overloaded heart journeyed back and 
forth through them, yet ever halted at the same spot ; 
and, when he left the office, as the shades of evening be- 
gan to gather, it was with his conclusion of the morning 
unaltered. He would go to Rachel that night and declare 
his purpose. In accordance with this resolution eight 
o’clock again beheld him parting from his wife and 
boy. 

“ Florence,” he said, looking into the loving face upon 
which another day of anxiety had left its mark, “I am 
doubting the wisdom of keeping this matter from you any 
longer. Indeed, you must know it soon. Try to distress 
yourself as little as you can in my absence. I do not ex- 
pect to be gone long, though I cannot surely tell.” 

“I will be as strong as I can, Robert. And, oh, my 
love, if you are thinking it best to tell me soon, I shall try 
to be strong and endure the revelation bravely, whatever 
it may be. Weak as I am, I trust I shall not prove un- 
worthy to be the wife of a man.” 

Rachel Underwood was fulfilling her agreement at the 
City Hall. 

“ So soon, Robert? ” she said as she stepped forward to 
meet her victim with a sensation of triumph and delight. 
“Still I’m not surprised. I thought likely you’d decide in 
one day. But my ! it’s been hard for you. You look five 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


158 

years older than you did last night. I’m sorry. But 
come : don't let’s waste time here. Keep close behind 
me.” 

Before Robert could make reply, Rachel faced about and 
began leading the way to her desolate home, following 
the same tangled course which she had taken the night be- 
fore. Her rapid pace was not long in bringing them again 
within the four dilapidated, rat-gnawed walls which had 
overheard the conversation of the night before. 

“And now, Robert,” said the eagerly expectant young 
woman, “ I suppose you’ve come to stay. Or rather not 
to stay. Of course this is no place for you, and, for that 
matter, for me either. Draw your chair up close to the 
stove and get as much warmth out of it as you can : the 
wind makes pretty free here for one like you. No, there’s 
no one in there to-night, if that’s what you’re looking for.' 
He was a very bad one, but he’s gone for good. My, but 
you do look bad, Robert ! Your eyes are all heavy and 
sunken. I’m glad my eyes don’t look that way. I’m sure 
if they did, you’d never say they were handsome again. 
But it ain’t unnatural after sitting up all night as you did. 
Does it surprise you that I know? Was I watching you? 
No, I’m only guessing. But I’m a pretty good guesser, 
ain’t I? There’s nothing like living about here and know- 
ing the bad ones to make one shrewd. But I’m wander- 
ing. I said it wasn’t unnatural that your eyes should look 
like that after sitting up all night. And it ain’t. The un- 
natural part, come to think of it, is that you should have 
sat up all night at all. Why should you have so much to 
think about, Robert? What did you find in my words to 
trouble you so? You used to say that you were happier 
with me than you were at any other time, and that I was 
all the world to you. Besides, you were always saying 
in the old days that you could gaze at my eyes and never 
sleep for gazing ; and last night you as much as said they 
were handsome yet. And now let me hear you say that 
you have come for good and all.” 

“Rachel, I cannot come ! ” 


‘ ‘ I WILL BE RE V ENG ED ’ 159 

The young woman started as if the dagger’s point had 
touched a vital spot. 

“Cannot come!” she cried. “Cannot come! What 
do you mean ? ” 

“That I have thought it all over again and again, hnd 
have decided I cannot come.” 

“ You’re fooling, Robert. You’re trying me.” 

“ I am speaking only the truth, woman.” 

“Don’t call me woman ! I hate it ! You’re not going 
to dare my hate, are you? You must be as crazy as I 
once was.” 

“No, Rachel, I am not crazy, though God knows I well 
might be. I have decided in view of all the facts.” 

Rachel sat gazing incredulously into her betrayer’s face 
for a full half-minute, before she made any further remark. 
When she spoke it was in a changed, calm voice. 

“Robert Moreland,” she said, “I can hardly believe 
you. If this is not all a scheme, what do you propose?” 

“I shall do the one thing I must do, Rachel.”. 

“You mean you will be your own detective ? ” 

“That is what I mean.” 

“ But you have not peached on yourself, yet ? ” 

“I have told nothing as yet except that I intend to tell. 
And now that you know my purpose, let me talk to 
you. My decision surprises you, yet it is final. As you 
have guessed I spent all last night in thought, and I have 
also spent this whole day in the same manner. I have 
not come to my conclusion hastily, but in full view of all 
the grief and pain which my revelation will involve. It 
surely cannot be possible that you are so little woman as 
to find pleasure in the prospect of causing so much suf- 
fering.” 

Rachel’s eyes flashed lightning, as from out of the 
chambers of her soul arose the demon of jealous hate and 
the lesser demon of revenge. 

“ Robert Moreland ! ” she cried, “so much woman, you 
mean ! Is it the nature of woman to enjoy being cast aside 
for another ? I§ it the nature of woman to rejoice over 


160 WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 

her own downfall that another with fine eyes may be 
happy in her place ? A pleasure to me to know that I 
shall cause suffering ? Not to you, Robert, though you 
are much to blame ; but to her — her — her — who ogled you 
out of my love with her handsome eyes ! ” 

“ Rachel,” replied Robert, both grieved and astonished 
at the young woman’s words, and the depth and intensity 
of the nature which they revealed, “your indignation is 
directed towards the wrong person. There is no one to 
blame for all you have suffered except myself.” 

“Don’t tell me ! ” broke out Rachel, and there was a 
wild fire in her eye which whispered “mad-house. ” “I’ve 
seen her eyes and I know how she works them. Oh, 
don’t tell me that, Robert Moreland, for I won’t believe 
it. You used to love me ; you used to think there was 
nobody in the world half so full of love and pleasure as I. 
How is it that you seem to feel so different now ? Oh, I 
know, Robert ; don’t tell me ! ” 

Robert waited a moment for the fierce storm which his 
words had aroused to abate a little, and then proceeded 
in a less exciting vein. 

“I was about to ask you,” he said, “what sum would 
be a consideration to you, seeing that I cannot come to 
you, to restrain you from compelling me to be my own 
detective. ” 

“Sum! ’’cried Rachel. “Sum! Money? I can put 
out my hand to-morrow- and be almost as rich as you. 
Money? It is not money I want: it’s you. I want you 
for myself, and I want you because she sha’n’t have you. 
You were about to ask me that, were you? I was just 
going to ask you something, too. Tell me, Robert : 
ought you not to have married me ? ” 

Robert did not reply. 

“Answer me,” persisted Rachel. “Ought you not to 
have married me, and given your child a father ? ” 

“ Rachel ! Rachel ! I do not know ! ” 

“Robert, Robert! you do know; I see you do. It 
wets th? least you could do to make things right ” 


“ I WILL BE RE VENGED ” 1 6 1 

“ Even saying that it was, Rachel (and God knows I feel 
bitterly for you !), let us not consume time in talking about 
that now. Whatever it was, it is all changed now.” 

‘ ‘ Changed ! ” cried Rachel, with bitter scorn. ‘ * Changed, 
because now you have married a second wife? Ah, 
Robert, let us see how changed. That is just what I have 
been working up to. Let us see how changed. Tell me, 
Robert : what would that second wife of yours say if she 
knew you were here to-night, and what you were here 
for? Do you know what she would say if she knew you 
had a first wife ? Do you know, Robert ? ” 

“ You ask me, Rachel : I will tell you. She would say, 

‘ Come back to me/ ” 

“You are crazy, Robert Moreland! That is the last 
thing she would say. You are not a woman or you would 
not think it. Are you so blind as to suppose that any 
woman wants a man so badly that she is willing to take 
him at second-hand? No, Robert, not at second-hand : 
that would not be natural. Til tell you what she would 
say. She would shrink all up in a heap, as if seized with 
some sudden, deadly pain ; she would grow pale, and she 
would point her pretty finger at you and say, ‘ You hypo- 
crite ! go back to your first love 1 * It would be real cross 
in her to say it, but that is just what she would tell you. 
She would not have loved you when she did, had she 
known you, and she would not have you now. Come 
back, Robert, to one who does know all, to one whose 
eyes are as they were made, and to one who does want 
you ! ” 

“It is of no use, Rachel. You do not believe your 
own words, and I know they are false. I cannot come 
to you. And so we must call that decided. But, before I 
go, I want to say something more. And first, I want to 
plead with you again to forsake this miserable life here, 
and be again the girl you once were. Oh, Rachel, believe 
me, it causes me intense anguish to see what I have done. 

I loathe myself for it. I did not foresee the awful results it 
•would have upon you, now, although you forge me 

II 


162 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


to betray myself, yet I beseech of you take my money 
and begin anew. There is nothing which I can right- 
fully do, that I would refuse to do to place you back where 
you once stood. But if I should die a thousand deaths I 
could not undo the past. What is done cannot be un- 
done. It can be mended, but only by your own efforts. 
I beg you, I implore you, work your way back to the 
light ! ” 

For a moment Rachel hesitated. For a moment she 
seemed to feel the power of goodness striving within her, 
but only for a moment. The past had shattered her 
woman’s nature too rudely for her to undertake to remould 
it into purity and virtue. 

“Enough of such stuff!” she exclaimed. “Enough, 
and more than enough. I have made my bed, and I will 
lie down in it. Robert Moreland, you may have looked 
very carefully at this business ; but there are some things 
that you have not seen. Once more I ask you : Are you 
coming to me ? ” 

“Rachel, I have answered that question. I will tell 
her — and then I have done all.” 

“ All that a fool would do ! Listen, Robert Moreland 1 
I will tell you some things you have not thought of. You 
imagine that my power over you will be gone the moment 
you become your own detective. You imagine that then 
you have cast off Rachel Underwood forever. You will 
take the one bitter dose that for the rest of your life you 
may have to dose no more. But I tell you, Robert, that 
imagination is a lie ! 

“You are mad — downright mad! Why force me still 
further? Why trifle? Don’t you know I won’t have it? 
Curse her, curse her, I say ! It's that second of yours 
that’s holding you. She’s snared you and you can’t 
break away from her spell. You think she would love 
you and stick by you ; but I tell you she would not ! 
She’s high and proud and she’d despise you ! Oh, oh, how 
I hate her with her eyes ! I hate her for doing me out ! 
Are you crazy that you dare me so ? You vaunt your 


“/ WILL BE REVENGED .” 163 

second love before me, Mr. Moreland. You know how I 
hate her and her eyes ; you know how your love for her 
must burn me to madness like hot coals. You know all 
this, and yet you cast your love in my teeth. It is well. 
Keep it in mind while I now warn you for the last time. 
I shall break no laws, Mr. Moreland : I shall not even be 
a nuisance. I have lived too long among the bad ones 
not to have learned to be shrewd. But I warn you, Mr. 
Robert Moreland, by that great but guilty passion in 
which you have been snared, trifle no more, dare me no 
further ! If you do, I will be revenged on your second 
fearfully. I will punish her till she will wish she had 
never been born. I can make her die. a hundred deaths 
before her time. No, do not begin to talk law and 
penalty to me : I tell you I shall break no laws. I shall 
not touch a hair of her head. But, Mr. Moreland, be 
warned. Do not in the heat of passion expose your wife 
to my hate. I am not talking stuff : these are no empty 
words. I will follow you to the end of the world, but I 
will be revenged. Do you hear me ? ” 

Hear ? It seemed to him that he heard with his heart ! 
“Do you hear?” repeated Rachel, almost wildly. “I 
will be revenged ! I will have justice upon her for doing 
me out of you and for murdering my child. You start, 
Mr. Robert Moreland. Yes, for murdering my little girl. 
You know what I mean. If the little thing withered away 
because it had no decent home and no father to care for 
it, whose fault was it ? Don't tell me it was mine : I was 
wild, mad ! Do you hear ? I will be revenged ! ” 

Rachel’s eyes were flashing and glaring like a lioness 
robbed of her whelps. Her face fairly gleamed with the 
fury of her emotions. Robert’s eyes had never beheld 
such a fearful sight. He almost feared she was being 
stripped of her reason on the spot. Was there no limit to 
her fiendish inventions ? Well, well might he draw back. 
Expose his wife to the powers of darkness and vengeful 
hate ? What would the desperate woman do, baffled and 
enraged and with the forces of evil at her command? 


164 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


The case had been terrible before : now it was indescrib- 
ably and madly terrific ! Rachel had kept her highest 
trump till the last. Yet, staggered and dismayed, and 
gazing terror-stricken over his swelling sea of troubles 
like some shattered wreck over the tossing ocean about to 
engulf it, Robert Moreland had no thought of altering his 
course. Unspeakably appalling as it was, it was yet less 
appalling than any other. Then, too, it was the right 
course. His heart was a very spring of acrid and poisonous 
waters, and his brain a down-flowing fountain of anguish 
and dread, but he could not alter his decision. Death or 
life, he should, he would tell Florence all. 

“ Rachel/’ he groaned, “I cannot come ! ” 

“Robert Moreland, Isay you’re a fool! Any idiot 
would be wiser! You don’t know what you’re doing! 
You would see her in Hell first if you did. And listen : 
What if I do not seek my revenge to-night ? What if I 
do not seek it to-morrow ? What if I do not seek it next 
week ? What if I do not seek it next month ? What 
if I do not seek it next year ? Listen well, Mr. 
Moreland : Will yours be a happy life with my hate 
hanging over you ? Will it, Mr. Robert Moreland ? Ah, 
Robert, Robert (I will call you that name once again), 
unless you come to me, you will curse this night and 
your love’s mad choice ! ” 

“Rachel,” responded Robert, his head fairly whirling 
with the mad tangle of his anguish and dread, “it is of no 
use. I cannot, cannot come ! Let us go. We need not 
talk longer. Remember my willingness to help you, my 
remorse for my sin. Come, let us go.” 

Rachel saw she could avail nothing. She arose without 
another word, threw her red shawl over her shoulders, and 
led the way down the old stairs, along the rogues’ run- 
way, through the low passage to the street. In a few 
moments they stood at the spot where they had parted 
the night before. 

“ Shall you tell her to-night, Robert ? ” 

“ Not to-night, Rachel ; the morning is better/’ 


/ WILL BE REVENGED: 


i6 5 


“Good-bye, Robert.” 

“Good-bye, Rachel.” 

And the winter wind, soughing drearily, drawing sigh- 
ingly about the marble corners of the great Hall, moaned 
bleakly : 

“Not forever, not forever ! ” 


i66 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ I FEELS IT. ” 

“ Not to-night, ” repeated Rachel Underwood scornfully, 
as she turned away, “ not to-night, nor to-morrow 
night, nor the night after that. Don’t I know how it 
will be ? Oh, I guess I do ! He thinks he’s strong and 
decided, but don’t I know ? Blast her eyes ! they won’t 
always be so bright, I’m thinking. And blast her cheeks 
so pink and white ! Ah, but they shall be all white. A 
little girl, was it, Robert ? And she is dead, is she ? Oh, 
but I am a little shrewd : I can think quick when I have 
to. Rose Maitland to Joe Hamerton. What a scheme, 
what a scheme ! Will you let me tell your wife who her 
sister’s husband is, Robert Moreland, rather than to come 
to me ? Oh, what a scheme ! And it’s my only chance.” 

Communing thus with herself, Rachel did not pursue 
the way by which she had come, but instead turned up a 
dingy street three blocks above her own, and came after 
a half-mile’s walk to the door of a dilapidated tenement. 
Into this tenement she glided, and to its fourth and last 
floor. Noticing here a timid stream of light making its 
way from one of the apartments into a small, public room 
next to it, she entered the room and pressed her eye to 
the crack. A single glance covered the entire scene 
within. The apartment was an unceiled attic, with a 
slanting roof in the rear — a frail barrier indeed against the 
winter winds that were whistling over it. The floor had 
two patches of worn red carpet upon it — one patch doing 
duty as a drugget, beneath a small, pine table ; and the 
other lying in front of a heap of old iron which bore a 
slight resemblance to a cooking-stove. A washtub in one 
corner under the slant roof, and at the opposite side a 


“ / FEELS IT” 


167 

wooden bedstead ; a tiny clock and a few old trinkets 
upon the board mantel ; a cracked looking-glass on 
the right wall opposite the stove ; a teapot upon the 
back of the stove, and some blue shelves which amply 
discharged all service required of them as a substitute for 
pantry and cupboard, completed the inanimate portion of 
the picture. Rachel bestowed only a cursory glance upon 
these, and fixed her gaze upon the two inmates of the room. 
They were a woman with a thin, wrinkled countenance, 
and a boy, whose old and pinched little face would 
have spoken to any beholder of eight or nine hard, in- 
hospitable winters. 

Both were sewing by the light of a single candle. As 
Rachel had put her eye to the crack, the woman threw her 
work upon her lap and clasped her hands tightly over her 
breast, to relieve a little, if possible, the hollow, wrenching 
cough which seized upon her ; and the boy raised a pair 
of large, sympathetic eyes from his work to watch her. 

‘ ‘ My !” exclaimed Rachel to herself, “that’s a bad 
hack you’ve got, wife of Morris Underwood ! And how 
you’ve grown old, and wrinkled, and gray since I saw 
you ! You’ve seen trouble — sights of it. And can that be 
he — my child? Has time skipped away so fast ! Such a 
pretty little fellow, too. But from your looks, I ain’t going 
to get you out of your cold garret much too soon. You 
mustn’t die ! Dear me, where should I be then and my 
scheme ? Such a fine scheme, too ! ” 

The poor woman within ended her exhausting cough with 
Rachel’s reflections, and again took up the heavy cloak 
which she had been compelled to drop. She stitched 
rapidly, nervously, as if she already heard the foot of 
the rent-gatherer upon the stairs. The boy, seeing her again 
at her task, resumed his own, not with equal rapidity and 
skill, yet with a deftness that was sad at his age, for he was 
only past six years. Without lifting his eyes from the large 
black buttons which he was fastening to another cloak, he 
spoke, evidently continuing some conversation which the 
cough had interrupted. 


i68 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


‘ ‘And why does you think so, mammy?'’ 

“ Why does I think what, Joe boy ? ” 

“Why, what you was just a-saying. You allowed as 
I’d come to something good, reckoning as I was good 
myself. ” 

'“Well, Joe boy, I doesn’t rightly know; but I reckons 
as I feels it. And, leastwise, you mustn’t break my heart 
by doing anythink as is wrong. ” 

“Happen not, mammy, happen not. But I was mind- 
ing to fetch you another ask : Reckon you does feel it, 
does you happen to feel as that there good as is coming is 
money ? ” 

“I hain’t figured on that, Joe boy, seems as you can’t 
figure much on feelings. But I allow as that were a part 
of it.” 

“Then your feelings is mighty good feelings, mammy ; 
and mostly I tries to believe them. But when I sees so 
many bad boys round here a-getting things with pick- 
pocketing and stealing, happen as I does sometimes not just 
believe as the good what is coming is money.” 

“ May be not, Joe boy. But it’s my heart as you mustn’t 
break, money or not. Money is one think, and heart is 
another think. Money can be lost and money can be 
found : but hearts once broke is broke for good and forever. 
And now, Joe boy, you best give over stitching for to-night. 
You’ve stuck to it faithful — for a boy.” 

“ No, mammy, not yet. You works a bit harder nor I, 
and I doesn’t like to sit by and see you going at it alone. 
You’s been at it since long afore I was up, and I allows 
as you’re going to be at it long after I’m in bed. I’ll 
stick at it a while yet — till I get all these big, black wheels 
on, leastwise. I wants it to be money so as we can live 
somewhere where it ain’t all roof and cold ; and so we can 
have a oil light ; and so we can have a ride in the horse- 
cars as many times a week as Saturday afternoon.” 

“Well, well, Joe boy, you’re a good one — wery ! Yes, 
old mammy do have to work pretty nigh hard ; but coal 
is high, boy, and tea is high and everythink’s high to us 


“I FEELS IT” 169 

sort — and rent is higher as all. And we must keep out 
of the work-house, Joe boy/’ 

“He ain’t in any danger of coming there,” thought 
Rachel at the crack. “ Lawyers shall support him. Oh, 
you little chap, you don’t know your real mother is look- 
ing at you ! They thought I didn’t know my own busi- 
ness when I dropped you there. Didn’t I, though ! I 
knew she was coming, I guess. And the little fellows he 
sent after me couldn’t find me ! Of course they couldn’t 
— not with me watching them from the cracks of the door 
between the two houses across the street. What a grand 
scheme ! ” 

“ Try not to cough, mammy, ” urged the child. ‘ ‘ Cough- 
ing ain’t rightly good for nobody. It tires them, and 
they’s mostly tired already. And tell me about them as 
is gone — them as I never saw.” 

“I’ve told you so often, Joe boy ! I used to tell you 
when you was that little that you didn’t rightly know a 
cloak from a needle ; it seemed to do me good — made my 
heart a little easier-like. Oh, yes, there was Morris — my 
man. What a good smart one he was ! He made fifteen 
dollars a week at the factory, and he always brought it 
home to me, every Saturday night. Not to here, boy, 
not to here ! We didn’t live here in them good days. No, 
Joe boy, he rightly loved me then, and I loved him. I’m 
afeared as he doesn’t love me now — even if he’s alive at 
all — but I loves him, Joe, just as much as ever I did. 
Women ain’t made like men, boy. Well, you know as 
how we had two outside of you. There was Willie — Oh, 
dear, there it comes ! ” 

By “it” mammy meant her dreaded cough, and it 
racked her piteously for a full minute before she could 
proceed. 

“Yes, there was Willie — and another — a girl. I never 
says her name out, Joey — she went that bad, that wery 
bad ! ” 

(“ ‘That wery bad,’ ” repeated Rachel at the crack ; and 
if there were tears in her eyes, at least no one saw them.) 


170 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Two,” continued mammy, giving the cloak a sudden 
turn and threading her needle as if by instinct, “two. 
And bright and sweet enough they were. Oh, if I could 
only think as that they was that bright and sweet now ! 
But, oh, Joe ! you knows how it went. You knows as 
how Morris began to change way back years afore you 
was born. How he took to the drink — and what wonder, 
with it poked under his nose every other step along the 
street, and shoved at his mouth every noon-spell by the 
men at the factory. Yes, you knows how he came home 
later and later of nights, and brought home less and less 
of his earnings to me. Oh, Morris, Morris, doesn’t I 
remember the first night you came home reeling drunk ! 
Doesn’t I remember how you took cross to me? And 
doesn’t I remember the night you first struck me — you as 
used to love me so ! I cried all night long ; and I could 
cry now only it would blur my eyes for stitching — and 
everythink is that high ! Well, well, I pleaded with him, 
you knows, Joe boy, but it wasn’t no sort of use. He 
only got mad, and he grew worse all the same, until we 
moved further down-town and lived in four stinking 
rooms ! And so it went — worse and worse. Before long 
he didn’t come home only when he felt like it, or when he 
would come to pawn something for the drink, and I had 
to move up here — rent were that uncommon high — and 
take to stitching and cutting to support the childers. 
Then he got in jail for drinking and for thieving ; and, oh, 
dear, oh, dear ! he got to be a pretty bad man, I fear — 
and my Morris, too ! And about them two others as you 
never saw — you knows it all now. How Willie went bad 
— as how could he help going with such a bad one for a 
father, and with bad ones all around him ! Yes, yes, he 
went bad, and I hasn’t seen him in such a long, long time ! 
And the other one — you knows about her, too. How I put 
her out to work in a good family to get her away from 
here, and how as some wicked man — I never knew who — 
fooled her, and how as I hasn’t heard of her since. Oh, 
Joe boy, it’s an awful crime for a girl to be born about 


“ / FEELS IT.' 


here at all ; but it’s more as I can say for her to be born that 
pretty as that one were. I ain’t spoke her name since ; 
but I can see her line, big- eyes now — and I loves her yet, 
boy — loves her yet ! ” 

(“ ‘Loves her yet/” repeated Rachel at the crack ; and 
if there were tears in her eyes this time, at least no one 
saw them.) 

Mammy’s overflow of feeling did dim her eyes notwith- 
standing “everythink were that high,” and naturally 
enough her repressed emotions brought back her cough. 
When she recovered from both, she found the boy’s great, 
round eyes fixed meditatively upon her. 

“Mammy,” he said slowly,. “I’m thinking whether, 
whether, if I should ever come onto him as were that 
mean to her as we doesn’t say, whether it would be bad if 
I was to ” 

“There, there, boy, — I knows what you is wanting to 
say. No, no, Joe boy, don’t ever you lift a hand agin him ! 
He’ll have his punishment — I feels that for sure and cer- 
tain ! Oh, oh, so mean and bad it were to fool a poor, 
low one with his high love — so mean and bad ! But 
you’ll never lift your hand agin him, Joe boy ! ” 

“Happen not, mammy.” 

“No, boy, you’d only be wrong and get into trouble if 
you did. The high ones steps on us sort nigh as how 
they please. But Joe boy, if you ever does come onto 
those two as you’ve never seen, happen as you’ll tell them 
as how she loved them yet. It might do them some 
good. And if you should see my man, you’ll tell him the 
same thing, too. And now, Joe boy, I’m going to tell 
you somethink — I’ve got to tell you, or else you might find 
them and not know it. My right name ain’t Hamerton at 
all ! ” 

“Why, mammy, how funny! Then my name ain’t 
that neither. How funny ! What did you take a wrong 
one for ? ” 

“Well, Joey, I’ll tell you. Hamerton were my rightful 
name afore I were married — afore -I married Morris. Then 


172 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


it were Underwood. Morris Underwood were his name. 
But since he went so bad, and since they all went that 
bad, I took my first name again. And so Willie’s name 
were Underwood, and her name it were Rachel. There, 
now, I’ve said it, boy. It do sound rightly funny to hear 
it spoke out again ; but now you will know them if you 
meets them and hears them called by name. Willie and 
Rachel Underwood — oh, dear, oh, dear ! But we’ll keep 
the names to ourselves, Joey, and we won’t talk about 
them ourselves neither. But you won’t forget, will you, 
boy? And, if you ever does see them, tell them that I 
loved them — loved them.” 

“ Happen I will, mammy. And I’ll tell them as how 
you cried at their being so bad, and how they must stop 
and be good. There the buttons are all on, — plunk.” 

“That’s a good Joe boy; and he must stop now and 
go up to bed.” 

“Up to bed ! ” Mammy always said up although the 
bed was just across the room under the slant roof. “ Up 
to bed. ” It was a sad habit which spoke of better days ; 
but little Joe understood it, and being quite tired out — 
faithful little fellow that he was — he immediately went up. 

Rachel Underwood crept down the stairs and darted off 
towards home. 

“I feel sort of loose and queer about the heart,” she 
said, as she hurried along. “Oh, my, my, but she has 
had trouble ! Loves us yet — loves us yet ! Oh, my little 
fellow, you won’t lie there long. I see my way right 
through, now. You’re going to keep those names to 
yourselves, are you? Well and good — well and good. 
Oh, I see it plain enough. And you will lift your hand 
against him in a terrible way, but you won’t know it. If 
I can only wait so long ! But I can — I can ! For it’s 
bound to work*! I’m bound to win ! Oh, pink and 
white, pink and white ! ” 

And still mammy’s needle flew, stitch, stitch, stitch, as 
if determined to prick the life out of something ; and the 
little clock on the mantel pointed midnight before she 


“ / FEELS IT V 


J 7 3 


folded up her finished cloak with a weary sigh. Then 
she threw one of the patches of carpet over the bed, and 
taking the candle in her hand, stood a moment over the 
sleeping boy. As she gazed at his innocent face her eyes 
filled with tears, and stooping over she kissed his brow 
and whispered : 

“ I feels it — I feels it ! ” 


*74 


• WHERE THE TIDES MEET, 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A SHORT CALL FROM PHILIP MAITLAND. 

With aching brow, burdened heart, and tired body, 
Robert Moreland pursued his homeward way after bidding 
Rachel Underwood good-bye at the City Hall. His whole 
frame seemed one throbbing agony. He was as a man 
gazing down from the giddy heights of some beetling 
cliff, ere he plunged into the boiling caldron below. He 
had left desolation in his wake : he must still bring deso- 
lation in the future. He would not tell Florence that 
night : he would tell her in the morning, or, still better, 
when they were seated in the library during the evening. 
Blighting, soul-devastating task — how could he do it ! But 
there was no escape : he would do it the very next evening. 
He had almost reached home when a quick step, which 
he had been too much absorbed to notice, came close be- 
hind him, and Philip Maitland’s voice called out : 

“Well, old man, you’re walking slowly for you. Time 
was when I should have steamed along after you in vain, 
especially as you’re homeward bound.” 

“Holloa, Phil, is that you ?” replied Robert, trying to 
speak carelessly, but with a sudden chill at his heart. 
“You’re almost a stranger these days. Yes, I’ve been 
taking it pretty slowly. The fact is I have had a most 
unpleasant business on hand for a couple of days, and it 
was occupying my thoughts so completely that I did not 
hear you coming till you spoke. Here we are : come in.” 

“I will, just a minute, though it is rather a late hour for 
such fashionable callers as myself. There’s Flossy at the 
door already. Well, sister mine, how are you?” 

“Why, Phil!” exclaimed Florence, as she stole an 
anxious look at her husband’s face. “How does this 


A SHORT CALL FROM PHILIP MAITLAND. 


*75 


happen ? I didn’t really suppose we were ever to see 
you again. You’re working too hard : you look all tired 
out. ” 

“Well, to tell the truth,” responded Philip, “I am a 
little tired : haven’t been playing all the time for the last 
few days. Christmas brings me some extra work. But 
I declare, you look as tired as I feel — every bit. And if 
you had seen Bob creeping along when I overtook him — 
Why, man, what’s the matter? You’re sick.” 

Florence’s heart contracted. 

“Oh, no, I’m not,” returned Robert. “Did you ever 
know me to be sick ? It’s only worry over that matter I 
told you was troubling me. It’s the same with Florence. 
But with you it’s downright hard work. Come into the 
library and warm up.” 

Philip Maitland was far too delicately polite to press 
the subject further. His mission in life was to cheer. 

“Let nrle see,” he said. “It must be a full month 
since you were down at my headquarters, and I haven’t 
seen either of you since. I’ve simply been over head and 
ears and heart in work.” 

“Tell us a little about your work,” said Florence. 

“About my work ? Well, you know what has been my 
special endeavor of late. It’s that Hall, which, after these 
years of discouraging endeavor, I am giving my days and 
nights to erect down in the midst of that seething mass of 
humanity below Fourteenth Street ; there where the tides 
of evil from a score of countries meet and toss up the 
vile froth of vice to the choking of all that is good or 
beautiful ; there where there are depths of degradation not 
surpassed by any nation on the face of the earth ; there 
where love is the synonym for the brothel ; where the 
saloon is the only temple, and the code of the prize-ring 
the only gospel ; there where life is at its lowest ebtr; 
where Hell gapes from below ; where men and women are 
devils. Right in the slimy swash of such currents I must 
have this hall for public assemblies of all sorts, from re- 
ligious meetings to comic operas. In connection with it 


176 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


there must be baths and bowling-alleys and billiard par- 
lors, and a reading-room and a music-room (the worst 
men like music). Now, all , this exposes me to a good 
deal of criticism. You wouldn't think it, but I get quite a 
share from the clergy themselves. They say now again, 
as they have said about my present little establishment, 
that I am coming nearer to a billiard-saloon than I am to 
a prayer-meeting. I might reply to them that I do not 
wonder at their disfavor, inasmuch as some of them have 
lately pulled out of the seamy districts and taken their 
congregations up-town, where there is more room and 
the air is purer ; but I content myself with saying that a 
dog can’t be lured with hay, nor a horse with raw meat. 
What wonder that the church is so signally failing to 
reach the masses in New York when it gets so far away 
from them that it can’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. 
No wonder that the saying is gaining credence that the 
way to heaven is via the elevated to Harlem. I have 
never given up the fight, however, and now I must have 
my Hall as a sort of visible nucleus around which my 
sheep may congregate. 

“But I fear my fanaticism is rendering me rather selfish 
to-night. I am sure you two ought to be in bed and 
asleep this minute. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do before I 
go. I'll relate to you a rather amusing incident in which 
I had a share. It isn’t as exciting as that experience with 
the old miser and the little waif I found tied up in the bag 
in the ash-barrel, but perhaps it will divert you and leave 
you in a good mood for sleep. In the course of a visit I 
made to a strange tenement a few evenings ago, I knocked 
at a door on the second floor and was admitted into a 
small apartment filled almost to bursting with a table, 
several rickety chairs, a cooking-stove, a man, his wife 
and four children. And who do you suppose the man 
was, Bob? It was our talkative friend Slack. I sup- 
pose you’ve heard of him, Florence. He’s quite a char- 
acter. ” 

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about him from Robert. He’s 


A SHORT CALL FROM PHILIP MAITLAND. 177 

that funny little man with the high voice and the long 
clothes, who works in Mr. Hardangle’s office.” 

“Yes, that’s the man. Well, the family had just finished 
their dinner — I suppose it was dinner, for there was rather 
too much smoke for supper — and were in the midst of a 
pretty heated discussion. Slack immediately recognized 
his caller and I’ll give you the ensuing conversation, as 
nearly as I can. 

“‘Oh, good evening, Mr. Maitland. Be seated and 
take that chair. I am honored. My wife and children, 
sir. You find us in a rather heated state of dispute, this 
evening. Allow me to explain the matter that you may 
hand down to us from the bench your opinion of it. My 

eldest and first-born child, Milly, yonder ’ 

“ ‘And worse luck it was for me ! ’ interrupted Milly, 
a slim, sour-looking slip of a girl. 

— “‘Yonder,’ repeated Slack majestically, ‘has been 

so foolish, so low-down and vulgar ’ 

“ ‘ It’s a lie ! ’ cried the girl. ‘ He’s just as respectable as 
you and your talk ! ’ 

— “‘And vulgar,’ went on the unmoved little fellow, 
‘as to allow, suffer and permit a disreputable and ill- 
bred young rascal to ask for her hand and heart.’ 

“ ‘And he’ll have them, too,’ broke out the incensed 
Milly. ‘ He loves me and I love him ! ’ 

“ ‘ I’m sure it’s love, Silas,’ here interposed Mr. Slack’s 
wife. 

“ ‘And so am I ! ’ joined in Milly’s sister, who had en- 
dured her sister’s unmerited disgrace as long as she could. 

‘ I saw him kiss her in the hall, only last night ! ’ 

“‘The scoundrel!’ cried Slack. ‘But peace, peace! 
Love ? Did I hear something about love ? What does 
such a miserable scapegrace know about love ? Nothing 
— absolutely nothing ! The name, Mr. Maitland — I have 
the honor — by which I have always designated said low- 
born person is ‘ O’Brien Brat ! ’ 

“ ‘ His name is Charley O’Brien ! ’ shrieked Milly. ‘ His 
name is Charley and I love him ! ’ 

13 


178 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“ ‘This aforesaid Brat/ continued the little man, ‘has 
lived in this same apartment-house with me for some 
years. He has pestered me and insulted me. And now, 
all at once, he tries to make himself very agreeable, in 
order that he may thus win my approbation of this affair 
— to say nothing of dowry.’ 

“ ‘We’ll do it without your say ! ’ cried Milly, hotly. 

“‘Naturally,' Mr. Maitland/ went on the calm little 
fellow, ‘ I am in no great humor to consent to this thing. 
Is he able to support her ? Yes. But in no such manner 
as has been hers all her days. What is he ? Nothing but 
an office-boy in a gentleman’s office ! ’ 

“ ‘ That’s all you are yourself! ’ screamed Milly. 

“‘Peace!’ again commanded Slack. ‘ Will you, in 
your wild passion, insult your father to whom you owe 
your very birth — which is more than a good many chil- 
dren about here can say. Will you, in your perverse blind- 
ness, compare a man who has been engaged in the law 
his whole life long, to a mere office-boy ? But now, Mr. 
Maitland, I appeal the case to you. Knowing and being 
acquainted with all these particulars and facts, do you 
counsel and advise me to give my consent and appro- 
bation ? ’ 

“Thus appealed to, and seeing that a runaway and 
quite informal match would be the result of refusal ; and 
also thinking that I perceived a covert willingness on the 
little father’s part to be freed from the support of his 
daughter, I said : 

“‘Mr. Slack, love is a strong passion. I advise you 
not to stand in its way. Would it not be a better course, 
and one more fitting to yourself, to forgive and forget the 
past ?’ 

“ ‘ You’re a nice gentleman ! ’ quickly cried Milly. 

“ ‘ A strong passion. You know it yourself, Silas’, mur- 
mured Mrs. Slack. 

“ ‘ Oh, won’t it be jolly ! ’ cried a young urchin stand- 
ing by the stove. ‘ We’ll have cakes and rozzens ! ’ 

“‘Peace!’ ejaculated Mr. Slack. And then he con- 


A SHORT CALL FROM PHILIP MAITLAND. 179 

tinued, caught by the form of my words : ' Perhaps the 
way you suggest would be most fitting to one of my po- 
sition.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, there’s his step now ! ’ exclaimed Milly, rushing 
to the door, and dragging her rather unpromising-appear- 
ing ideal into the room. 1 Oh, Charley, my dear, come 
in ! It’s all right. He’s going to let it all go ! ’ 

“And Charley came in, looking rather sorry, I thought, 
that peace had taken the place of war ; and, to make a 
long story short, after a pompous forgiveness by Mr. 
Slack, I asked the fond lovers the necessary questions, 
gave them all the good advice I thought they could hold 
— and married them on the spot. And now I’m going.” 

“Dear good Phil ! ” said Florence after her brother had 
gone. 

“All gold,” assented Robert. “ I do hope he has re- 
lieved the strain on your heart a little. I was detained 
much longer than I expected to-night, but I shall have to 
go no more. It is finally concluded. Would God I could 
keep it from you ! I cannot. However, we are both too 
fatigued to talk about it to-night. To-morrow evening, 
unless something unforeseen occurs, I shall be forced to 
let you know all.” 

“Robert, my love,” answered Florence looking up hope- 
fully into her husband’s face as they rose to retire, “ I am 
all at a loss to conjecture what your secret is ; but this I 
know, that no man whose heart urges him to give five 
thousand dollars for the uplifting of the down-trodden, as 
you gave Phil for his Hall, can have any secret of which 
his wife need be ashamed.” 


i8o 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A TENEMENT GUESS ON BROADWAY. 

The following afternoon, just as the short winter’s day 
was closing in, Rachel Underwood, with her red plaid 
shawl gathered closely about her shoulders, might have 
been seen parting from the pressing throng which filled 
the inhospitable street, and entering the building upon 
whose second floor Jeremiah Hardangle still pursued the 
law, and where Silas Slack in his superabundant garments 
still pursued the lawyer. Mr. Slack, who was dutifully at 
his post in the waiting-room, gave her a surprised nod as 
she entered, followed by a knowing but rather uneasy 
wink, as if the remembrance of his late unceremonious 
exit from her quarters was still green in his memory ; and 
finally, having admitted her to the lawyer’s presence, he 
bestowed upon himself a second more knowing wink, 
and took his stand at the key-hole. Lawyer Hardangle 
pushed his chair back from the desk as his strange client 
entered, and scanned her face questioningly. 

“Well ? ” he asked. 

“Remember me?” rejoined Rachel. 

The lawyer again studied her face a moment, and 
thought he did. 

“Yes, of course you do,” returned Rachel, coolly. 
“You seem to have an excellent memory for faces. Per- 
haps you remember my name, too.” 

The lawyer still kept his hard, steady gaze fixed upon 
his questioner’s face. It was the face of insanity no 
longer. 

“ It is, perhaps,” he said, “not very material whether 
I do or not. However, I have a good memory for names. 
Unless I mistake, yours is Miss Underwood,” 


A TENEMENT GUESS ON BROApWAY. 181 

“Yes, I knew you hadn’t forgotten it — Rachel Under- 
wood. No doubt you could tell me when and on what 
errand I was here before? ” 

“If I could not, Miss Underwood, perhaps you could 
enlighten me. May I inquire what business gives me 
the pleasure of a call from you this afternoon ? ” 

“Small pleasure, I guess, Mr. Lawyer Hardangle — 
mighty small pleasure I guess you’ll find it. What busi- 
ness brings me here ? The same business that brought 
me here before. ” 

“You were, Miss Underwood, when you called upon 
me before, scarcely in an accountable state : I gave your 
words no weight. But I recollect that your visit was rel- 
ative to the last will and testament of one Reginald 
Moreland.” 

“Yes, Reginald Moreland. You are a good lawyer, 
ain’t you ? Memory is such a good thing for a lawyer. 
Now, just tell me what I said.” 

“Miss Underwood, I cannot allow even a woman to 
speak to me in so demanding a manner. I have not 
stored your words in my mind, and unless you propose 
some definite business, I have no time to waste and must 
■ beg ” 

“Yes, you must beg ! ” broke in Rachel. “Now that is 
such a good one ! Wit is another good thing for a lawyer. 
So funny in you to make out you don’t know my business 
in one breath,, and in the next say it right out. It’s not 
very bright to tangle yourself so in the same minute. 
You have got a good memory, but, really, you don’t seem 
to be very smart. Must beg : yes, of course you must. 
And, speaking of funny things, it’s funny that dead men 
do tell tales sometimes, ain’t it ? ” 

The same unmoved, stony look. 

“Miss Underwood, I have no time to discuss with you 
the correctness of old saws. Whether dead men tell tales 
or not, is a matter in which I have no interest whatsoever. 
It is growing late : perhaps we have talked long enough.” 

“For you, Mr. Lawyer Hardangle, no doubt; but for 


182 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


me — why we haven’t begun yet. Still if you do really 
want me to go, I will. Where ? Around to your friend 
Mr. Inspector of Police.” 

“ Miss Underwood, it is a matter of supreme indiffer- 
ence to me where you go.” 

“Now, Mr. Lawyer, that won’t do at all. It’s not 
gentlemanly, you know. But then, it takes a gentleman 
to do gentlemanly things, and a man to be a gentleman 
— and you really are neither.” 

“Woman, your impudence is insufferable ! ” 

“Then, Mr. Lawj^er, you’d better not suffer it. You 
have your choice about it. If you say the word, I’ll go ; and 
I’ll say to your friend the Inspector : Mr. Inspector, I 
have just come from Lawyer Hardangle’s. I inquired of 
him whether he thought it funny that dead men did at 
times tell tales, but he wouldn’t tell me. So I have come 
to you to ask you whether it does not seem funny to you 
that dead men — that one dead man — that Reginald More- 
land does tell tales.” 

“Now, Miss Underwood, you are growing more defi- 
nite : you are coming to some business. If you mean 
that you have any information to offer, which, in any 
way, even remote, might tend to clear up the mystery 
which still hangs over the disappearance of my former 
friend and client, I shall be more than glad to listen to 
you.” 

“Oh, yes, more than glad, Mr. Lawyer! Then I’ll be- 
gin over again. If you don’t take any interest in old saws, 
as you call them, perhaps you would if they were changed 
a little. Maybe it would seem funny to you if drowned 
men only should tell tales.” 

“You are again growing indefinite.” 

“I’ll be more definite then. Maybe it would seem odd 
to you, if men drowned by some one — or, more precisely, 
by some two — should alone tell tales.” 

The lawyer’s gaze still held firm ; but the fixed, stony 
look in his eyes became awfully fixed, as he said : 

“Still indefinite. My time is precious.” 


A TENEMENT GUESS ON BROADWAY. 183 

“So is mine, Mr. Lawyer Hardangle. Indeed, I am 
quite sure that this present time is far more precious to 
me than it is to you — more precious than any time in my 
life before. And, though you say I’m indefinite, you really 
don’t look it. You stare at me so sharply that I am 
inclined to ask you if you think I’ve been listening to any 
tales of ‘ floaters ’ down by the docks. ” 

“It would be a very queer question, Miss Underwood. ” 

“Yes, it would be queer — that’s a fact. It’s queer I 
thought of it, ain’t it ? Listen, Mr. Lawyer : Do you 
suppose that what might be whispered to one by floaters 
down at the docks, might be worth keeping silent — by 
money ? Speaking generally now : do you suppose it ? ” 

“I fail to get your meaning. Do you mean that my 
former client came to his end by drowning ? That was 
discovered shortly after his death. You still talk very 
blindly. ” 

“Dear me, Mr. Lawyer, blindly yet? How very much 
better your memory is than your sharpness ! But I’ll try 
once more. Don’t you think that those particular tales 
which might be whispered to a woman, provided espe- 
cially that woman was me, by a dead man, supposing 
that man to be one Reginald Moreland, might be worth 
keeping out of the public ears by paying over certain 
sums of money ? ” 

“Your words contain no meaning to me, Miss Under- 
wood. ” 

“Mr. Lawyer Hardangle, you lie ! But you shall lie 
no longer.” (“Oh, you grinder, oh, you grinder!” 
ejaculated Mr. Slack, at the door, mentally rubbing his 
hands together.) “You shall lie no longer. You think 
that your secret is as hidden as the grave, but I tell you 
it’s as open as the day. Oh, you Lawyer Hardangle, 
what a precious rascal you are ! But I know you, oh, I 
know you ! I knew Shadow and Bags ; I knew their 
boat ; I know how Reginald Moreland came to his end ; 
I know how you hired your black work done ; I know 
how you made yourself rich, and how you forged the will. 


1 84 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


Oh, my memory’s good, Mr. Lawyer, and I’m sharp be- 
sides ! ” 

“Someone has played me false!” hoarsely cried the 
lawyer. 

“ A stern charge, Mr. Lawyer. One which it might not 
be well that certain ears should hear. Very personal, too 
— very personal. Inasmuch as Shadow and Bags make 
only two, and one is dead, I say you are extremely per- 
sonal. And perhaps you might as well be sure that some 
one has been false before you say so. Ah, you rascal, 
you don’t want me to go now, do you ? Oh, no ! Old 
saws are mighty interesting just at present,, ain’t they?” 

Lawyer Hardangle did not immediately reply. His 
calculating eye picked out a certain letter in a large sign 
across the street and there it rested. As it lingered there, 
one who had known a certain individual whom the lawyer 
knew, and to whom he had affixed the name Joe Collins, 
might possibly have imagined that Joe Collins was mys- 
teriously taking the seat which Lawyer Hardangle was 
occupying. At all events, when the eyes returned from 
this short journey to the countenance of Rachel Under- 
wood, the face in which they were set wore a certain 
changed, triumphant, malevolent look — a look which, 
whether it was gleaming on the face of Jeremiah Hard- 
angle or on that of Joseph Collins, foreshadowed no good 
to Rachel Underwood. But Rachel, being acquainted 
with no such person as Joseph Collins, had no other idea 
than that it was Lawyer Hardangle who again fixedly re- 
turned her gaze, as he said : 

“Well?” 

“Ill ! ” she rejoined. “ 111 for you and well for me. I 
suppose you mean terms. ” 

“Terms.” 

“Well, then, you got a clean half million by the thing, 
didn’t you ? ” 

“I have said nothing.” 

“But I say you did. And I say that you cheated my 
child — as I told you when I was here before — out of all or 


A TENEMENT GUESS ON BROADWAY, \ 185 

part of it. Now, what terms do I ask? That just so 
much of that half-million as I want, I receive. ” 

“Well?” 

“Well, what do you say ? ” 

“ I take your terms.” 

“You do take them? You take them very easily. If 
you think you can get out of them you’re much mistaken. 
You can’t. Don’t try to move away anywhere, for I’ll 
split on you the minute you do ; and if the police don’t 
find you it’ll be because you’re not to be found.” 

“ I had no such thought, Miss Underwood.” 

“Then, Mr. Hardangle” (and Mr. Slack could scarcely 
restrain himself from snorting aloud : “Esquire, Gentle- 
men of the Profession ! ”), “my business with you is almost 
finished, for the present. And it will be completely fin- 
ished, when you have put into my hand five thousand 
good dollars.” 

“It is impossible for me to produce such a sum on the 
spot. I could give you a check, but that would not be best 
for either of us. Come to my house — here is my card — to- 
morrow night at eight o’clock and I will hand it to you in 
money. You of course pledge secrecy, Miss Under- 
wood?” 

“ I pledge nothing ! ” 

“You are in a position to dictate : come, and I will give 
you what you have asked.” 

“Never fear but I’ll come, Mr. Lawyer. And when I 
want more I’ll know where to get it. Good-night, Mr. 
Lawyer. ” 

When Rachel returned to the waiting-room, Mr. Slack 
was occupying the same chair that he had been honoring 
when she entered. As she passed him she whispered : 

“Come to-night.” 


i86 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

PARTNERS AND PARTNERS. 

“Paulina,” said Mr. Slack as he was rather nervously 
consuming his repast that night, “Paulina, have you 
heard nothing of Mike during the day? ” 

“Nothing, Silas.” 

“And this is the fifth night of his absence. Mike has 
been growing restless and uneasy for some time. I fear 
that Mike has struck out for himself. ” 

“Fear so, Silas. Mike was getting in a hurry to be his 
own master. Restraints of home were growing disagree- 
able to him. Wanted to stand alone — on his own feet. 
Oldest boy. Never said good-bye.” 

“Sentiment, Paulina, sentiment. Young birds can’t 
always remain in the home-nest. Mike was rather un- 
ruly, and, though this present nest is plentifully large for 
songsters that agree, it is not fitted by nature or art to be 
the home of contention. The boy will take care of him- 
self : let him go. Andnow, Paulina, for the ten-thousandth 
time let rne be assured of your confidence in your hus- 
band.” 

“Silas certainly cannot doubt it.” 

“ Nor does he. No, Paulina, your confidence in your 
husband is your strong point. I ask you now because 
there may have been times when I have seemed a little 
unworthy of your trust — when there was actually not a 
wonderful deal for you to base your faith upon. But now, 
when your faith is about to be rewarded, when your hus- 
band has proved the wisdom of your confidence — now it 
was especially delightful to hear you repeat yourself. In 
short, Paulina, in short — there has been a spill!” 


PARTNERS AND PARTNERS. 


187 

“ Paulina did not doubt that Silas would accomplish his 
end. Hopes he has not laid himself open. Never said 
good-bye. ” 

“My dear, enough. Your sentiment has turned your 
judgment. Laid myself open ? You are not yourself. 
Paulina, you forget my virtue.” 

“ Meant nothing, Silas, am sure. Silas perfectly honest. 
Sentiment turned her judgment.” 

“Let it pass, my dear — pass. This is no time for insig- 
nificant squabbles. Yes, there has been a spill — a grand, 
a glorious spill ! The champion Heavy-weight, the im- 
mortal Grinder, Hardangle Esquire, Ladies and Gents, 
has been spilled, spilled, spilled ! His foot is lifted from 
my neck, and I am free to rise. Paulina, from this hour 
you are more a lady than ever. You were made to shine, 
to sparkle and shine and gleam you shall. The poor 
steeds of my brain are on the home-stretch. The race is 
won. Mary and Jim, you are, between you, a great heir 
and heiress. But now I go. Good-night.” 

The rapid pace to which Mr. Slack urged the steeds of 
his limbs that they might be in harmony with those ofhis 
brain, caused him to appear, without any very great lapse 
of time, in the forlorn apartments of Rachel Underwood. 
Rachel was setting a pot of tea upon the coals, as he 
entered. 

“I am come, Miss Underwood,” he said. “And I find 
you engaged in an excellent occupation. Tea — what a 
wonderful beverage ! Its odor is paradise and its taste is 
heaven.” 

“It’s more than all that talk,” rejoined Rachel, as her 
visitor seated himself near the stove. “I take it for my 
eyes. Makes them bright, you know. Sharpens my \yits, 
too ; which seeing I am going to talk to a member of the 
law, is a very good thing.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Underwood — very complimentary, 
I’m sure,” returned Mr. Slack. “Oh, yes, and thanks 
again: I see two cups.” 

“I didn’t mean to keep it all to myself. It might not 


i88 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


hurt your intellect either. And now while it is steeping, 
let’s come to business/' 

“Ah, yes, business — delightful! Grinders have their 
day. Speak out. I am all ear — I am a universal acous- 
tics.” 

“I suppose you heard it all ? ” Rachel began. 

“All what, Miss Underwood?” 

“All the talk between your boss and me. I mean you 
were at the key-hole.” 

“Miss Underwood — excuse me — at the key-hole — as- 
tonishing ! — I must object — really — my honesty compels 
me — Mr. Silas Slack ! ” 

“Well, well, Mr. Honesty, try to keep cool.” 

“Yes, yes, cool, Miss Underwood — I am perfectly cool. 
But you astonish me. Of course I could not avoid occa- 
sionally overhearing a word or two which tended to con- 
firm my belief that you were working our suspicions on 
the Grinder. I arrived unavoidably at the conclusion — I 
could not evade it. Putting two and two together I had 
four. I repeat— I could not avoid it. My habit of honesty 
compelled me. Two and two made four.” 

“Well, well, Mr. Honesty, I, too, repeat: try to keep 
cool. If you didn't hear, why, you hear now that I charged 
the lawyer with hiring Shadow (the man who warned you 
not to make a certain subject the staple of your talk, which 
you have done) and Bags to make way with old More- 
land.” 

“ Miss Underwood ! Impossible. It cannot be ! Too 
much respected ! ” 

“There, there, don’t be too much surprised: it’s suspi- 
cious. But now you know what my suspicions were. 
How did I find out ? I happened to go to Shadow and 
Bags in their den, the night before the murder. What I 
saw and heard there, together with what I have found out 
since, gave me the whole thing. Yes, I was working off 
my suspicions. Just tell me while I pour you some tea, 
what about it ? ” 

“ First, that Hardangle’s guilt is almost more than even I 


PAR TNERS AND PAR TNERS. 189 

can believe ; and, second — oh, thank you. Very nice tea 
— so hot, too — that, inasmuch as you swore secrecy and 
we are partners, I am interested — intensely interested — to 
hear the result in terms of cash. Delightful beverage ! Y es, 
another if you please. To your health. ” 

“Come, Mr. Honest Slack, do speak straight out like a 
man. You heard the lawyer promise me money, and you 
want some of it. Now, look here : Fm not going to give 
you any.” 

“Oh, ah, Miss Underwood, now really ” 

“Yes, really : I’m not ! ” 

“ But honesty compels me. You did swear, and we are 
partners. ” 

“ Cursing or swearing, I say I’m not ! ” 

“One moment, Miss Underwood ; you’re so quick and 
hasty. Honesty compels me : let me speak. I was not 
wanting any of your money. I have papers and proofs. 
I shall be able and capable of getting all I want for 
myself. Really, my lovely partner, you are very hasty 
indeed. ” 

“And meant to be, Mr. Honesty. But I’ve got some 
things to say to you, and you listen. When I say I’m 
not going to give you any of the money the lawyer 
gives me, I mean I’m not unless I feel like it — unless you 
earn it. But I’m going to give you a chance to earn it.” 

“Really, now, Miss Underwood, I object. It is unjust 
that I should work twice for the same money. It was I, 
Miss Underwood, who showed you that paper — the proof 
of forgery. It was I who opened to you the door to 
wealth by which you have entered. I repeat, my charm- 
ing partner, it is wrong and unjust.” 

“Whatever it is, Mr. Honesty, we will not talk about 
it now. I don’t say whether I should have got it all out 
without you, or not. I don’t say whether I’ve always 
told you the truth. But I do say that we won’t talk about 
it now ; and I do say that Shadow and I are friends. Now, 
Mr. Honesty, if you were afraid to attack the lawyer 
alone, and came to me for a little backbone, why, I 


190 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


can’t help it. Do you want to earn this money or don’t 
you ? ” 

“You forget, Miss Underwood, you swore and we are 
partners. Besides I can get all I want myself.” 

“That’s just what you can’t, Mr. Honest Slack. You 
can’t get a cent. I want the lawyer to myself, and I’m 
going to have him ; and the minute you say money to 
him I’ll find it out, and I’ll say to Shadow of a night, that 
a certain little man is making a certain subject the staple 
of his talk. You hear, Mr. Honesty?” 

“Yes, yes, my charming partner, I hear.” 

“And from your looks, I guess you'll heed. But I don’t 
want to be too hard on you, so I’ll pay you well for easy 
work. Now, here it is : There is a certain little boy living 
in a certain bare garret with a certain poor woman. That 
boy is mine — his father you know as well as I. The 
woman — never mind who she is. Well, that boy being 
mine, and his father never having seen him, it’s natural 
that I should wish him well and want to see him take a 
good place in the world. Now, what I want you to do is 
this : There’s a certain man, name of Maitland, who has 
a school and is going to build a Hall down here in what 
people are pleased to call the ‘slums.’ He is a sort of 
tract-peddler and goes around in the tenements ” 

“In the tenements joining hearts,” interrupted Mr. 
Slack. 

“Visiting, and getting children into his school, and 
giving charity. I want you to go down to his school — 
here’s his card — and tell him about my boy, and get him to 
take him into his school. Now mind, I don’t want you 
to tell him anything about who the boy is, or anything 
like that. Don’t do that : for if you do — remember who 
are friends. And I want you to take this money and give 
it to the man and say that a kind lady who don’t care to 
have her name mentioned, but who has taken a liking 
to the two, sent it to him to help take care of the child 
and the woman. And say that the lady will send him 
more at odd times. (This is to be sent by you for liberal 


PARTNERS AND PARTNERS. 


191 

pay.) He will do what he can for her, which won’t be 
much. Also tell him that they are suffering from want, 
and he should hasten. The name you will ask for is Mrs. 
Hamerton. Will you do it ? ” 

“Well, now, Miss Underwood/’ replied Mr. Slack, look- 
ing very green and crestfallen, “that depends and hinges 
altogether upon the money there is in it. You see, you 
swore and we are partners, and my honesty really com- 
pels me to object to being deprived of the privilege of 
spilling the great and immortal Grinder.” 

“See here, Slack, I don’t want to hear any more about 
your honesty compelling you. You’ll really do well, in 
my opinion, if it don’t some day compel you to take a 
trip to Sing Sing. I’ll tell you what : if you are so anx- 
ious to spill Hardangle — by which I suppose you mean 
bleed him — I promise you that you shall one day get the 
chance. When, I don’t say, and can’t : it may be five 
years, it may be fifty. But, inasmuch as we are partners, 
and you did help the firm along, and, inasmuch as it will 
suit me to see the old rascal spilled, as you say, why, I 
promise you shall have the chance. In the mean time, 
I’ll pay you well for easy work.” 

“Now, Miss Underwood,” cried Mr. Slack, his coun- 
tenance brightening, “ now we are again partners ! Spill 
him, Miss Underwood ? I’ll lift his foot from my neck 
with such a triumphant and glorious fling that he shall 
come down with a bang — shall see stars for several con- 
secutive minutes. It is a long time ahead, to be sure : 
but the sure knowledge shall uphold and sustain me. For 
the present I shall live upon the Grinder, upon you, upon 
Mag — and upon Hope. Miss Underwood, I leave the 
amount to you. I agree to your stipulation. ” 

“ And you will see to the business to-morrow ? ” 

‘ * To-morrow, Miss Underwood. ” 

“Then take your pencil and w T rite the address on the 
back of the school-card. And remember — fourth floor.” 

Mr. Slack did as he was bidden, and then bade his 
hostess good-night. 


192 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Good-night, Mr. Slack,” returned Rachel. “To-mor- 
row. ” 

Leaving Rachel to her own thoughts, and to exclaim over 
and over again : ‘ ‘ What a grand scheme ! — if it only works 
and lean wait,” Mr. Slack (repeating to himself: “As 
if I didn’t know where the kid was ! ”) pursued his way 
towards a respectable portion of the city, and erelong 
stood for the first time that month in the presence of his 
sister. Madame was seated reading in a low, cushioned 
chair near the centre of the room. On the table at her 
side lay a bundle of letters ready for deposit. As her 
brother entered she looked up from the yellow-covered 
literature upon which she had been engaged and returned 
his greeting. 

“ I knew it was you,” she added, “from your step ; or 
rather, from your lack of step. ” 

“Very natural that you should,” rejoined Mr. Slack. 
“All great men have their characteristics. Peculiarity is 
the penalty of ponderosity.” 

“And blusterosity, too, I’m thinking. Well, have you 
kept your eyes upon the two youngsters ? ” 

“Yes, I’ve kept my eyes upon them, you Mag; and I 
came to tell you about the Underwood one.” 

“And you’ve come almost in the nick of time for your 
percentage. Had you come last evening you would have 
found the top letter on just such another heap of letters 
as that, addressed to Robert Moreland. But about the 
Underwood one.” 

“Well, about him, he’s to be put to a private school 
and taught learning by his mother ; from which you may 
judge that she is still good-looking. ” 

“ Good luck to him, Silas. If he rises in the world, he’ll 
make more money. Unknown parentage. Good secret. 
Worth paying for.” 

“ Oh, you Mag, you ! But about that letter — what was 
your figure ? ” 

“ I began low — I always do. Only fifty dollars.” 

“ Which, Mag, at my five per cent., entitles me to two- 


PARTNERS AND PARTNERS. 


193 

and-one-half good dollars. At the beginning of the year, 
therefore, you will owe me : For watching the Underwood 
one, ten ; for the Ashley one, ten ; on commission, two- 
and-one-half. The total is easy to reckon. I shall call 
for said total at the proper time.” 

‘‘And, as you’ve never failed to receive it heretofore, 
are quite likely to get it now — if Moreland pays up, as no 
doubt he will. I was reading quite an interesting story 
of high life when you came in, Silas. Oh, I tell you, Silas, 
my boy, these high ones are precious rascals. Even you 
wouldn’t believe what a number Eve got on my list.” 

“You are an angel, Mag — and a brick besides ! If not 
an angel of mercy, at least an angel of justice. How 
would all these poor girls get avenged without you ? The 
men are high, the girls are degraded ; and the law don’t 
touch the offenders. Yes, you Mag, I repeat you are a 
brick of an angel. And, if you chance and happen to 
feather yourself a pretty decent nest by the operation, 
why — you can’t help that, of course.” 

“And yet,” rejoined Mag, with a slysmile, “the police 
and the parsons think I’m such a bad one ! Ridiculous, 
ain’t it ? Why, as to the parsons, they spend their time in 
talking about some vague and shadowy punishment in 
some other world — which scares nobody — while I, with 
precious little talk, put the punishment right on here where 
it was committed. Ten to one, Silas, those high ones go 
home from their meeting-houses on Sunday with a good- 
natured smile on their faces ; but when, on Monday morn- 
ing, they find a neat little note from me on their desks, 
they turn red and white by turns, and are in the humor 
for anything but a smile.” 

“ Well, now, you Mag, if I haven’t worn out that brick, 
I again repeat — you are one ! Why, I tell you what : if 
you only had been a preacher or a priest, you Mag, you’d 
have scared the whole city into kingdom-come with a bang 
and a rush. Dear me ! if you only could take the preach- 
ers’ place on Sunday and they could take yours during 
the week, what a city we should have ! Hey, Maggie ? ” 
13 


194 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“ I rather think we should, Silas. And when I do get 
my church, you shall be sexton to usher the high ones up 
to the front seats where I can get a good, straight whack 
at them. And you'll be undertaker, too. I’ll stand at the 
head of the grave and say : ‘ Gone to glory : ’ you’ll stand 

at the foot and say : ‘ The deuce he has ! ’ Oh, Silas, to us 
who are in the thing — behind the scenes — there is many a 
comical affair to be seen. Yes, yes, at odd times I’ve 
seen the funeral processions of some of my good Christian 
victims, and I’ve smiled to myself and said : ‘ The deuce 
he has ! ’ ” 

“And how about yourself, Maggie ? We’ve all got to 
journey together, you know.” 

“Well, well, Silas, I never think of that — don’t allow 
myself to. But if, once in a while, in spite of myself, my 
mind will take a cemetery turn, I comfort myself with the 
assurance that, as the parsons who send my respectable 
victims to glory, will surely send me in another direction, 
you or somebody can stand at the foot and say : ‘ The 
deuce she has ! ’ ” 

“ Or the deuce has she Hey, Maggie? But I’m on the 
wing to-night. Shall I post those letters ? ” 

“ Be so good, Silas,” returned Madame Guillon, re-open- 
ing her book, as her brother shuffled out. “I suppose I 
must go some time, hang the mean idea but, at any rate, 
Silas can say, ‘ The deuce ! ’ ” 

When Mr. Slack reached his home by way of the 
Side Pocket, it was naturally nearing midnight. As he 
stumbled unsteadily into bed, he roused his sleeping wife, 
who raised her head and murmured dreamily : 

“Paulina has perfect confidence. More a lady than 
ever.” 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Slack, “you are ! Most women are 
pretty tolerable ladies when they’re asleep. But you’re 
not as much a lady as I had hoped. Reason : because 
there are two partners in the firm, and in some strange 
and unaccountable manner — I am the junior member ! ” 


JOE COLLINS. 


*95 


CHAPTER XXII. 

JOE COLLINS. 

“Well, Mary-lady ! ” exclaimed the widow of the late 
James Humstone, “ he is in a mood to-night. He couldn’t 
look worse if he Was on his way to murder Abraham Lin- 
coln. There’s his bell now. Butter to beans he wants his 
tea set back until it’s as black as a black cat. That’s the 
way it works with him : when he gets in a mood he wants 
his tea as black as two black cats ! ” 

When Molly entered the dining-room in obedience to 
the lawyer’s summons, she did not inquire what was want- 
ing as was her custom, but instead stood near the door 
with her head tossed well back and a look of offended 
dignity upon her face. 

“I’m through, Molly,” remarked her employer. “I 
don’t care for any dessert. Hand me the brandy-decanter. ” 

‘ * It’s apple-pie, ” she said, ‘ ‘ and cream to match. There 
ain’t a better pie at this moment in all New York.” 

“The proof of the pudding is in the eating and not in 
the talking,” retorted the man of law. “Just hand me 
the decanter and a wine-glass, and let us have no more 
words. ” 

Molly procured the glass and decanter and withdrew 
in high dudgeon. 

“ Oh, Mary, Mary ! ” she exclaimed to her faithful com- 
panion, “ what we do have to endure at the hands of our 
lords. But it’s all our own fault — all our own fault. Dear 
me, if I only had your fine claws ! I tell you though, 
lady, that you’re clear and clean without excuse if you let 
yourself be down-trodden and over-ridden. Brandy indeed ! 
Soothing-syrup would have been more to the point. Yes, 
there you go with your head crazy and ready for any- 


195 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


thing, and your insides feeling like a coal of fire. Come, 
Mary. ” 

Leaving the two diners to their food and reflections, 
Lawyer Hardangle passed upstairs to his library. Turn- 
ing on the gas, he threw himself into the easy-chair beside 
his reading-table, stretched out his legs at full length, 
crossed his feet, and twining the fingers of one hand 
tightly with those of the other, let his head fall forward in 
a thinking posture. 

“ I’ll do it ! ” he muttered to himself. “ I must do it ! 
God in Heaven ! it might be too late even now ; though, 
as she is after money, it isn’t likely, Yes, I must do it, 
for to live with her hanging over my head would be worse 
than death ; though the idea of the forgery must be all a 
shrewd guess arising from the notion that I supplanted 
her child. How in the name of the Devil did she find out 
the rest ? And she knew it all when she came to the office 
the first time ! What a thought ! What demon helped 
her to find out ? It utterly beats me : I can form no con- 
jecture about it. Bags was dead and Shadow would as 
soon have been, as to have given it away — especially to 
a crazy girl. Is she the only one that knows ? I must 
find that out first. The police don’t suspect : if they had 
suspected I should have heard from them before I heard 
from her. Yes, I must do it, and I will. There’ll be no 
peace unless I do. It’s a terrible job, but there's no help 
for it. To-morrow night when she comes for the money, 
Shadow must watch her and track her — and do the rest.” 

Mr. Hardangle sat ruminating thus for about half-an- 
hour, strengthening each moment his conviction that there 
was only one course for him to pursue, when he suddenly 
rose from his chair, muttering : 

“ Well, if I will do it, I’d best be at it ! ” 

He left his book-lined library, took his hat and over- 
coat from the rack, and passed up into his bedroom, bolt- 
ing the door behind him. He then scrupulously closed 
the blinds and proceeded to unlock first the closet door, 
and afterwards the same drawer at the left of the door, 


JOE COLLINS. 


*97 


which we have seen him open before. From this drawer 
he extracted a pair of rough, brown boots, a pair of worn 
and rusty pantaloons and a tattered coat and vest. These 
articles he laid upon the bed, and returning to the closet 
brought to light a gray flannel shirt, a dilapidated and 
greasy slouch hat and last of all, a wig of red hair and a 
spreading bush of red whiskers. Placing these, too, upon 
the bed, he divested himself of his customary black attire, 
and locked it in the drawer together with his silk hat and 
great-coat. This done, he tried the bolts in the trap over 
his head, relocked the drawer and the closet, and arrayed 
himself in the worn and rusty garments which he had 
concealed in their hiding-place as a precautionary measure 
shortly after the disappearance of Reginald Moreland, and 
which may yet be put to the use for which they were, 
originally designed. 

Having clad himself in his strange attire, Lawyer Hard- 
angle or Joe Collins, as you will, passed to his mirror and 
adjusted his false hair and whiskers. When this was com- 
pleted to his satisfaction, he gave himself one self-con- 
gratulatory glance, took a loaded revolver from his bureau- 
drawer and went downstairs, listening carefully as he 
went, to assure himself that Molly and her cat were at 
their respective duties in the basement. Then, slowly 
opening the street-door and finding the street deserted, he 
crept down the stone steps, and walked away. 

The Side Pocket had its usual quota of guests upon this 
gusty December night. Among the number were some 
old, familiar faces and some comparatively new and 
strange. For as the front rank of pilgrims folded their 
tents and stole silently away to the grave, there was ever 
a rear line of more youthful travelers ready to fill up the 
number. The Side Pocket stood in the midst of a sea of 
nasty tenements, and the supply of pilgrims was quite 
inexhaustible. Among the new-comers were Mike Slack 
and Charley O’Brien, who were standing at the extreme 
end of the bar, cornered by their respective father and 
father-in-law. 


198 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Now, young men,” Mr. Slack was saying, “ as this is 
your first evening here, I repeat that I hope and trust it 
will prove your last.*’ 

“ And/’ replied the unruly youngster, “old man, as this 
is your two-thousandth evening here, I repeat that I hope 
and trust it will prove your last. ” 

“There now, young man, you are both flip and impolite. 
Milk for babes and meat for men. Age makes all the dif- 
ference ” 

“Between an oldswiper and a young one,” interrupted 
Mike. “Come, old chappy, don’t read us no lectures: 
we won’t have ’em. We’re on our own feet and we do 
our own bossing. But, I say ; how did the old woman 
take my skipping ? ” 

“111 enough, unruly and ungrateful one! You are 
her eldest child and offspring ; and remembering this 
altogether unforeseen and unhappy circumstance, she took 
it ill, I repeat, that you should leave the home-nest where 
you were born and reared, without so much as a good- 
bye.” 

“Well, well, chirk her up when she’s down in the eat- 
ing-organ, old man. Tell her that you saw me alive 
and kicking ; that I pick up odd jobs during the day, and 
sleep with neatness and dispatch for a dime. All which 
you will relate to her if you feel so inclined, and if you 
don’t, you won’t.” 

“ And I most emphatically do not ! ” rejoined Mr. Slack. 
“I shall freshen no unpleasant memories and recall no 
disagreeable associations. I trust, young gentlemen, that 
you indulge in nothing but soft drinks ? ” 

“Soft your grandmother ! ” contemptuously exclaimed 
both young gentlemen simultaneously. 

‘ ‘ What ! so soon fallen ? ” 

“Come, come, governor!” cried Mike, “say what it 
will be : Straight, punch or cock-tail ? Gin, beer or ale ? 
Give us a card.” 

“Well, now, young men, really you are too immature to 
be at it already. But, as you are your own bosses and 


JOE COLLINS. 


199 


will do it, why there is no man living whom I should 
sooner have you drink with than your father. A glass of 
ale, my sons. To both of your healths, my children.” 

The ale having been drawn and gulped, Mike and 
Charley each lighted a brown clay pipe, and the three 
joined the circle about the stove. The conversation 
seemed to be turning upon the relative merits of hand 
and head. 

* ‘ Now, ” said the Kid, ‘ ‘ hand and head. They both gits 
the same start-off, and they both winds up sinTlar. 
Theer ain’t no sich oncommon difference atween the 
words, as people are foriver try in’ to make out. Wan 
feller puts his head onto a buke or a paper, and, by 
thunder, he must live on the Av’nue and have six or 
siven horses : I puts my two hands onto a shovel or a 
hoe, and sweats away all day, and I’m durned if I haint 
unasy to roide down to the dumps along of the gar- 
bage what the head-fellerler laves out on his side-walk. ” 

“Right you are, ’’joined in Mr. Slack. “ Theyare grind- 
ers, and it’s their delight to grind. But I always assert 
and declare that our day is coming. Grinders are grinders, 
but spills are spills ! Nevertheless, I must say — honesty 
compels me — that head-work is of right better paid than 
hand-labor. ” 

“ Roight nawthin’ ! ” rejoined the Kid. “ I knows the 
proper rule fur payin’. I says : so much sweat, so much 
cash ; no sweat, no cash. ” 

As Mike finished this exposition of his economic views, 
the door of the Pocket swung slowly open, and an indi- 
vidual who was a complete stranger to them all — some 
fresh pilgrim, perhaps — entered the saloon. The stranger’s 
face was enveloped in a mass of bushy red whiskers ; he 
was dressed in a rusty-brown suit of clothes ; and he had a 
greasy slouch hat drawn well down over his eyes. He 
gave no heed to the debaters about the stove until he had 
first stepped to the bar and indicated to Dan, the tender, 
by signs, that he wanted brandy. Then he faced about as 
he slowly sipped the liquor, and scrutinized the company. 


200 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“ Now as to your rule in the matter of remuneration,” 
Mr. Slack went on, when the eyes of the company had 
returned from the new-comer, “ I can agree with it on one 
consideration alone. And that consideration is that there 
may be two kinds of sweat. For I assert that two such 
perspirations exist. There is one perspiration of the brow 
and another of the brain : there is one sweat of the muscle 
and another of the mind. The only difference between 
the two is, that the one stripes the countenance with the 
streaks of grimy toil ; the other fills the mind's eye with 
moisture. But, even so, your rule is at fault, for where 
one man can labor with his brain, twenty men can 
toil only with their brawn. The man of head can be- 
come the man of hand : the man of hand cannot become 
the man of head. I can say this, for I have had ex- 
perience — I say it humbly — no little experience in head- 
work ; and I declare that head-work is much rarer than 
hand-work. And again : if it were not for the head there 
would be very little use for the hand. I will illustrate. 
Suppose for example that there were no lawyers — I speak 
humbly — to make the law against murder : where would 
be the hangman’s job ? Or suppose there were no lawyers 
— again humbly — to make laws against thieving and other 
crimes : w T here would the police find a job ? ” 

“And,” put in Billy, “suppose as there was nobody 
to invent gas : where would your tongue find a job ? ” 

At this juncture the conversation was interrupted by 
the odd movements of the silent stranger. He left his 
stand at the bar, and approaching Shadow as he was 
sitting morosely puffing away at his pipe, tapped him 
upon the shoulder and made signs that he should follow 
him. 

“What the deuce is wrong with yer? ” demanded the 
felon, as the whiskered stranger continued his beckonings. 
“Can’t yer speak out ? ” 

The stranger’s face assumed a blank and puzzled look. 
Thrusting his fingers into his ears, and striking his hand 
upon his mouth, he shook his head in a helpless, explan atory 


JOE COLLINS . 201 

manner, which plainly said that he was without hearing 
or speech. 

“Theer be summat difference atween him and Apart- 
ment, ” slyly suggested the Kid. 

“And durned if I don’t perfer his sasiety ! ” ejaculated 
Shadow. “But, hold on, old cove, and I’ll be with yer, 
if only to find out what in thunder yer want with yer 
hanged gymnastics. Mebbe a little night air’ll do your 
voice good.” 

Leaving Mr. Slack and his friends to finish their discus- 
sion at the Pocket, the rusty-coated stranger conducted 
Shadow in silence to The Toot, another saloon about a 
dozen blocks further up-town and one block nearer the 
East River. Here they drank together at the stranger’s 
expense, and then sat down in an unoccupied corner of 
the room. 

“Your name’s Shadow,” said the stranger in a muffled 
voice. 

“The deuce yer say !” returned Shadow. “Yer’re a 
forge, ain’t yer ? ’Lowin’ as yer couldn’t talk ! ” 

“ Yes, it was all put on — I can talk as well as the next 
fool. The dumbness was put on and other things to 
match. Don’t you remember my voice ? ” 

“Yer voice? Well, now, yer a hair-pin, ain’t yer? 
Who the devil are yer, anyhow ? ’Pears as I do seem 
to twig yer clack : but I can’t just seem to say whose 
it is.” 

“What would you say to its being one Hardangle’s ! ” 

“Durn you! Hardangle ! That’s the caper. Durn 
you — and a-lookin’ this here sort o’ way. And I say what 
might yer want of me ? It hain’t no sort o’ use fur yer to 
try to git me into no more scrapes. I won’t go in.” 

“That’s because you were suspected of the other, I 
suppose. Or was it because Bags — let us talk low — lost 
his life in it ? ” 

“It’s because I won’t go in, I say ! ” 

“But there’s money in what I’ve got to tell you. 
You’re not tired of money, are you ? ” 


202 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Look here, lawyer; I say it ain’t no use. I won’t 
go in ! ” 

“Not if I should say that unless you do go in we 
may both be strung up together for the other ? What if I 
should say that ? ” 

“What d’yer say ? ” 

“That there is one that knows all about the other 
thing.” 

“ The devil yer do ! How d’yer know there is ? ” 

“She came to me and told me the whole affair.” 

“Blue blazes! Did she, though? What did she look 
like ? ” 

“She was a young, good-looking woman with dark 

eyes and hair ” 

“That’s the gal ! ” 

“What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean as I’ve had blasted bad luck ever since I first 
saw yer, and I wish yer’d been in Hell afore yer come 
a-botherin’ of me. What do I mean ? I mean that gal 
come to me, too.” 

“To you! What are you talking about? And you 
never told me about it ? ” 

“I didn’t, ’cause it warn’t no use. I hain’t in no danger, 
I’m thinkin’. Did the hussy tell her name ? ” 

“Rachel Underwood.” 

“Exact. Mebbe yer don’t jest know what my name 
is?” 

“You’re name? You can’t mean ” 

“Yes, I kin mean. My name’s Underwood.” 

“What, Shadow, what! Your daughter ? ” 

“The same sharp indiwidual.” 

“Speak out, man ! I must know all about this. Where 
under Heaven did she find out? ” 

“Say I don’t know then.” 

“You don’t know ? ” 

“ That’s my drift.” 

“You’re cool enough about it. She promised not to 
give you away, I suppose.” 


JOE COLLINS. 


203 


“Yer supposes about the truth.’' 

“Then, if you’re telling what’s so, she has been fooling 
either you or me. She came to me for pay to keep the 
thing quiet, and threatened to expose me unless I gave her 
money.” 

“ Did she bleed yer, Mr. Lawyer ? Perty darter ! Joy 
of my heart. So sharp, too. Worth any number of cops 
to hunt down a scent. Did she bleed yer, though ? 
Perty darter ! ” 

“ Blast your insolence, you villain ! Don’t try chaffing 
me. Did you hear what I said ? She knows I wouldn’t 
hang alone : she knows to give me up would be to give 
you up. And yet she threatened to expose me. Do you 
hear that ? ” 

“I twig, Mr. Lawyer. I reckon as it war yer she war 
gamin’, and not her father. Did yer come down hand- 
some ? ” 

“I didn’t give her a cent. I told her to come to my 
house to-morrow might for what she wanted. My scheme 
was to have you shadow her and do another little job ; 
and I say you’re a fool if you don’t. You think she was 
gaming me, and that she wouldn’t have gone to the 
authorities if I had refused her. Well and good. I shall 
take the same ground. I sha’n’t give her a farthing. 
Now, do you feel safe? ” 

“Don’t bluff, lawyer. I know yer’ll come down. 
Yer’re far too keen to mean that. Yer wouldn’t run the 
risk fur no end of cash. Yer ain’t the kind to trust yer 
neck to her affect’on fur her dad. Besides, what’s more, 
she ain’t the only one as knows the hull biz.” 

“ Great God ! Speak out, I say ! I meant to ask that. 
Who knows it ? ” 

“Say I don’t know. She says there’s others as she is 
the only one as kin keep back. Do her, and we’re cooked 
’uns. ” 

“Do you believe her? Don’t you know anything 
about it ? ” 

“ I believe her too much to croak her, leastwise; and I 


204 WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 

don’t know nuthin’ about it. I reckon as she’s got more 
nor one dark yarn in her head as would keep back a chap 
or two.” 

“ This is a fearful mess, a fearful mess ! ” exclaimed the 
lawyer under his breath. “ If you’re not in the thing your- 
self for gain (which from your manner I fancy you’re 
not), I say it is fearful. Couldn’t we get her somewhere — 
into your den, say — and scare her into giving up the names 
at the point of the revolver (if she really has them) ? ” 

“ Skeer her ? No ! It ain’t in her. I tried it on myself. 
She knows we wouldn’t dare touch her. I tell yer, Mr. 
Lawyer, as fur yer, yer’ve got to pay ; and as fur me, I’m 
all right.” 

Lawyer Hardangle rose. 

“I must think this over,” he said. “Meanwhile, rem- 
ember : One caught, two caught : one hung, two hung. 
Good-night. ” 

“ The same to yerself fur the hull of it.” 

In the course of an hour, Joe Collins had vanished some- 
where and Jeremiah Hardangle was pacing his library 
floor. Shadow, on his part, retained his identity and be- 
took himself to the apartments of his daughter, whither he 
arrived shortly after Mr. Slack’s departure, his faith in her 
promised protection a good deal disturbed by the lawyer’s 
account of her threats. Rachel, however, quickly reas- 
sured him. 


MAMMY’S FEELINGS ARE PROPHECIES. 


205 


CHAPTER XXV. 
mammy’s feelings are prophecies. 

As Paulina Slack bade her husband good-bye the next 
morning, there was no trace of low spirits in her tone. 
She had expected nothing and had not been disappointed by 
her husband’s words of the night before. The observation 
of this fact elicited from her beloved this tender parting 
remark : 

“ Paulina, you are the very woman after my own heart ; 
and, though you will not comprehend it, I will distinguish 
you by remarking that it makes no essential difference to 
a clam whether the weather be wet or dry. ” 

The day in Mr. Hardangle’s office proved itself fully as 
dry as usual to the author of the foregoing sentiment. 
However, having obtained permission to quit the scene of 
his daily calling an hour or two earlier than was his wont, 
he found the exceeding dryness of the day more bearable 
by reason of its brevity. Leaving the office he wended 
his way in the direction indicated by the card which his 
senior partner had given him, and erelong arrived at his 
destination. Entering a schoolroom fitted with seats 
for about thirty children, he stood face to face with the 
sole occupant of the room — the teacher at his desk — and 
removing his hat, inquired after the man he sought. 
Following the directions he received he knocked at the 
office door in the rear of the room, which was opened to him 
by a sweet-faced little girl, who first inquired his name, and 
then called to a man busily writing at the other end of the 
office : 

“ Brother Phil, Mr. Slack would like to see you.” 

“Tell him to come right in, Rose,” answered Philip 


2o6 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Maitland, without looking up from his writing. “I will 
talk with him in one moment.” 

Mr. Slack accordingly entered, and taking a seat upon 
the sofa which stood near the door, awaited Philip’s disen- 
gagement. While he waited, Rose opened a conversation 
with him. 

“ I think it’s pretty cold out of doors, don’t you? ” she 
said. 

“ Rather cold and chilly,” replied Mr. Slack. 

“ But we — that is Phil, I mean — keeps it good and warm 
all about here. Were you ever here before ? ” 

“I never had that privilege, Miss. My business ties 
me closely down.” 

“ I think it’s very nice, don’t you ? You came through 
the school where they teach them ; and now you’re in the 
office ; and out there is the reading-room through the glass. 
You see they can play billiards and ten-pins and all sorts 
of games. Don’t you think it’s nice, too ? ” 

“ It seems very agreeable : no doubt it is.” 

“If you’ve never been here before, perhaps you’ll like 
it well enough to come again when you get time. I’m 
wondering what your business is.” 

“I am of the legal profession, Miss. I am of the bar.” 

“Oh, dear! the bar? Then I see why you’re so busy. 
Brother Phil says there are so many saloons around here ! 
I’ve never been here but once before. I hope you never 
sell beer to little boys, sir ! ” 

“Oh, dear me, Miss, you’re much mistaken. I am not 
of the saloon bar, but of the legal bar. They are closely 
related, however. For the saloon bar makes the laws 
which the legal bar has to deal with. Oh no, Miss. 
There are several kinds of bars. I am a lawyer — an at- 
torney — and, if I did keep a saloon, I might one day be 
a Justice.” 

“Oh, dear, I’m sure I don’t understand half you say, 
sir, but I am so glad you don’t sell it to little boys and 
their brothers and papas. Brother Phil does have such 
trouble with the saloons ! That’s just the reason he has 


MAMMY’S FEELINGS ARE PROPHECIES. 


207 


all these games here, so that they can come and have a 
good time, and not go to the saloons and get drunk and 
swear and fight. Oh, dear me ! I don’t see why men will 
keep saloons ; do you ? ” 

“Well now, Miss, that is a question ! Honesty compels 
me to say that I do see. It’s because there’s money in it. 
But men should be moderate, and never allow themselves 
to become intoxicated. Why, only last night it was my 
painful duty to beseech two youths — promising youths — 
to let the cursed stuff alone. ' And even then I have every 
reason to fear that they partook after all. Indeed, I am 
perfectly confident they did.” 

Little Rose’s exclamation of approbation was inter- 
rupted by her brother’s wheeling about upon his chair 
and coming over to shake hands with his visitor. 

“Why, Mr. Slack, is it you? I was so busy I really 
did not heed the name Rose gave me. You are off duty 
earlier than usual this afternoon. How are your wife and 
family ? And how is the one I married ? ” 

“To answer all your inquiries simultaneously,” rejoined 
Mr. Slack, “ I will say — beautifully, sir. That term covers 
both the health of my offspring and the outward ap- 
pearance of my wife. There have been some changes — 
some vicissitudes — but take it all in all, I say beautifully.” 

“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Slack, glad to hear it. And 
now what can I do for you ? ” 

“That, sir, is the point. I have come here to represent 
another — a lady, a client of Mr. Hardangle. She does not 
wish her name revealed : modesty seeks incognito. Said 
lady handed me this sum of money — which she will renew 
at odd times — to make over to you, that you might use it 
in behalf of a certain poor boy and her who supports him. 
You will find the address upon the back of this, your 
own card. It was the wish of aforesaid lady that the boy 
should be educated at your school. As to aiding and 
helping the woman, you were to exercise your own judg- 
ment and discretion after seeing and observing her for 
yourself. And now, Mr. Maitland, — I have the honor — 


208 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


I may ask you when you can attend to the matter. I 
was informed by my principal in this case, that they were 
suffering from want and privation, and that they should 
be attended to with dispatch/’ 

“ Oh, the poor things ! ” broke out little Rose, who had 
been an attentive listener to Mr. Slack’s narrative. “I’m 
sure you’ll go right away, won’t you, Phil dear ? ” 

“Well now, little mouse,” replied Philip, “if you want 
me to, I guess I must.” 

“And mayn’t I go with you? I should like to go so 
much ! You know I want to be a little missionary too, 
though I’m sorry sister Madge don’t like me to be. 
Madge and I are so very different. May I go, Phil ? ” 

“Yes, midget, if you want to ; and we can go directly 
home from there. I will just step in and ask Mr. Sidg- 
wick to wait until Peter comes in. Will you accompany 
us, Mr. Slack ? ” 

“I have the honor, Mr. Maitland. I should be gratified 
to do so. I have a great sympathy for the poor and 
down-trodden, having at odd times been badly ground 
myself. ” 

The three set out directly and hurried along through 
the wintry air at a rate too rapid to allow much conver- 
sation, and one which brought them without great lapse of 
time to the grimy tenement upon whose top floor mammy 
and Joe boy loved and labored. Philip consulted his 
card. 

“ This is the number,” he said. 

“The fourth and topmost story,” said Mr. Slack. “Let 
us remember that in such cases the fewer questions asked 
the better.” 

“I shall not forget it, Mr. Slack. I have too often seen 
one false step put back one’s work for years. But I have 
not thought to inquire the woman’s name.” 

“Name of Hamerton. Now we enter and ascend.” 

“Oh, Phil !” cried little Rose, as they passed into the 
hall as dark as midnight save for the opened door, “I’m 
almost afraid. And what a bad smell there is ! ” 


MAMMY'S FEELINGS ARE PROPHECIES . 


209 

Philip smiled sadly. Vile odors were nothing new to 
him. 

“Til keep the door open for you, mousey/’ he said. 
“It will be lighter as you go up. There, now wait for me, 
and Mr. Slack will lead the way. Keep hold of the rail 
and turn when it turns.” 

The dismal journey to the top landing safely accom- 
plished, Mr. Slack knocked at the first door at hand 
(knowing full well that it was the right one) and a hol- 
low voice from within called out : 

“ Come in.” 

Mr. Slack slowly opened the door and inquired, while 
his two companions stood just behind him : 

“ Is this Mrs. Hamerton, and her son ? ” 

Again the husky voice revealed its owner’s fatal disease. 

“ My name is Hamerton and this is Joe boy. What do 
you want ? ” 

“ I give place to you, Mr. Maitland. Mrs. Hamerton 
this is Mr. Maitland and his little sister, Miss Rose. He 
will inform you of his errand.” 

Philip, thus introduced, stepped forward into the room, 
followed timidly by Rose. 

“This is Mrs. Hamerton?” he kindly inquired — so 
kindly that it seemed to surprise the woman, as something 
new and strange might have done. 

“ That’s the name I rightly goes by,” Mrs. Hamerton, 
replied, not for a moment forsaking the sewing upon 
which she was busily engaged, “but Joe boy calls me 
mammy. Joe boy, give over the stitching, and let the 
gentleman have your chair. It isn’t a extra nice one, 
sir, and we haven’t over many of them here — everythink 
is that high ! I’d give you my own, sir, but I can’t rightly 
stitch, standing ; and I mustn’t give it over. Besides, I 
feel that tired to stand long. ” 

“You are working very hard, my woman,” said Philip, 
seating himself. “ You scarcely seem fit for it.” 

“We doesn’t complain, sir,” returned mammy, nervously, 
casting a quick glance at her visitor’s face, as if to ascertain 

14 


210 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


whether he had any intentions of removing her to the 
hospital or the alms-house. “Joe and me never com- 
plains. We does have to work a bit hard and a bit long, 
but we never complains — never ! (You'll excuse my 
coughing, sir, I can’t help it.) We keeps ourselves from 
starving and from freezing — and we never, never com- 
plains ! ” 

Philip Maitland well knew the anxious motive which 
had dictated this repeated denial of complaint. Unlike 
some very good and well-meaning gentlemen, he had dis- 
covered that pride and independence of spirit can exist 
on the fourth floor of a foul tenement, even if that floor 
contains nothing but chilly attics. 

“Mrs. Hamerton,” he said, “I can easily believe you. 
People that work as you are working don’t find time to 
complain. Your cough is very bad, my poor woman.” 

“A bit, sir. It do rack me at times ; but I never com- 
plains of it, do I, Joe boy ? ” 

4 £ That you doesn’t, mammy, ” answered the boy warmly. 
“ It ain’t you to whimper.” 

“ You are very fond of your boy,” continued Philip, his 
heart touched by the love and devotion which the pair 
exhibited. “I’m sure I don’t wonder at it. Joe is a fine 
fellow, and he’ll make a fine man.” 

“ I’m wery obliged to you, sir, for saying it,” responded 
mammy, her face brightening. “Yes, sir, that he will! 
A dear, good (excuse this hack, sir), a dear, good one is 
Joe. He’s my only comfort now. We isn’t much, sir, 
but I tells him and he believes it, that if he’s the one he 
ought to be, he’ll come to somethink good.” 

“And what you tell him is as true as true can be, Mrs. 
Hamerton. It’s true at this moment, and I am here to 
say it’s true. I have a school not very far from here, and 
a good, kind lady told me about him, and gave me money 
to dress him up and take him to my school, and make a 
fine, good man of him. Yes, it’s perfectly true.” 

The intense delight of mammy’s heart may be best 
judged by the fact that she threw her sewing upon her lap 


MAMMY'S FEELINGS ARE PROPHECIES. 


21 i 


and stuck her needle into it. When mammy forgot to 
stitch, something very unusual had happened. 

“Bless you, sir ! ” she cried. “ Bless you, sir, and her, 
too ! If she was here, I’d rightly fall down on my knees 
and worship her. Joe boy, does you hear what the gentle- 
man says? A fine, good man, Joey. Oh, I did feel it, I 
did feel it ! I’m so wery obliged to you, sir. Thank the 
kind gentleman, Joe, and tell him how rightly happy you 
are ! ” 

To mammy’s great surprise and mortification, Joe did 
not speak a word nor offer to express the slightest grati- 
tude to the stranger who had brought him such wonderful 
news. 

“Why, Joe boy!” she exclaimed, “why. don’t you 
thank the good gentleman ? Didn’t you hear what he said ? 
A fine, good man, Joe.” 

“Mammy,” replied the boy, very slowly and very 
thoughtfully for one so young, “mammy, I heard as what 
the gentleman said. And I am a-thinking as how your 
feels was right, and how it was money. But — but — ’’and 
the little face grew yet more sober and a shade fell across 
the fine, dark eyes, “ it ain’t money in such a way as 
will let me make you stop stitching so ; and you can’t take 
a ride in the horse-cars of a Saturday afternoon ; and I’m 
afeared as how it’s not going to do you no good at all. 
And if it don’t, I ain’t rightly going to take it.” 

“Bless you ! ” broke out the woman, the tears running 
down her withered and sunken cheeks, “bless you ! You 
ain’t a-going to be a fine, good man unless it does me 
good, too. Oh, boy, boy, what a Joe boy you are ! ” 

“You needn’t feel bad about that, my fine little fellow,” 
put in Philip. “The same lady also gave me money to 
get your dear mammy into a better place than this.” 

“Did she, though!” cried little Joe, his face beaming 
with delight. “ Then I’ll feel awful good to you both, sir. 
Well, I never ! Mammy what feels you does have ! And 
it’s your time to hear now. Didn’t you hear what the 
gentleman said? What makes you so sober-like ? ” 


212 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“Sober, Joe boy? Sober? Well, I allow as howl was 
a-thinking as how I had never took no charity — oh, that 
do rack me ! — how I never had took none before, Joe boy, 
and how, Joe boy, I didn’t rightly want, Joe boy, to take 
none now. I hope as how you won’t think I’m proud and 
high-stepping, sir, and I’m rightly obliged to you. And 
there’s other reasons why I can’t leave here — oh, that does 
rack me ! There’s Willie — him as were my son, sir — and 
there’s Morris — my husband — and there’s the other one as 
were my daughter. They might come back here — and I 
loves them yet — and wouldn’t find me. No, sir, I rightly 
couldn’t take the money.” 

“Oh, mammy!” exclaimed the child, “then I won’t 
neither.” 

“Yes, you will, boy — it’s all different with you. If 
some lady wants to make a fine good man out of you, it’s 
all right. Because you will grow up to pay her back by 
being a fine man and showing her all the good she has 
done. Why, Joe boy, what’s all my feels been about if 
not for this ? Yes, you must, boy ; it’s all different and 
right with you. You’re young and the world is afore you. ” 

‘ ‘ I can’t take none, ” persisted the child. ‘ ‘ Everything is 
so high, and rent is highest as all, and I must stay and help 
mammy stitch.” 

Tears stood in Philip Maitland’s eyes, as he looked into 
the prematurely old face of Joe boy, and he repeated to 
himself: “I have not found so great faith, no, not in 
Israel.” 

“My little fellow,” he said, “I am very glad to see you 
cling to your mother so. But don’t you see that she won’t 
have you to pay for any longer, and so you’ll help her as 
much by going ? And then when you grow older you can 
make money enough for both.” 

So Philip spoke, but he saw on mammy’s face how well 
she knew that long, long before her Joe had grown into a 
man, she would have lain down in the dark, narrow home 
where there would be no danger of winter draughts and 
no need of moving. His words, however, seemed quite 


MAMMY.' S FEELINGS ARE PROPHECIES. 


213 

to satisfy the sweet honor of the child and he made no 
further objections. 

“My dear Mrs. Hamerton,” Philip, continued, “your 
cough is very distressing : I will send you a physician. ” 

“Oh, sir ! ” exclaimed the woman, “doctors are high, 
too. I’m afeared as I couldn’t pay him along of all the 
other high thinks.” 

“ Don’t mention pay, Mrs. Hamerton. The pay is all 
seen to.” 

“ No, sir, no ! Don’t think as I’m proud, and I’m rightly 
obliged to you ; but I’d rather not.” 

Philip, knowing that mammy was taking the last steps 
towards a consumptive’s grave, untwined his arm from 
little Rose, and whispered in her ear : 

“You’re very bad, my woman: you ought, for Joe 
boy. ” 

“ Oh, sir ! I wonder if I am that bad ! Yes, sir ; any- 
think — even that — for Joe boy.” 

And so, with a God bless you and a promise to return 
on the morrow to clothe Joe boy and start him at the 
school, Philip Maitland took his leave, Rose clinging 
tightly to his hand, and Mr. Slack bringing up the rear. 
At the street-door their ways parted. They had been 
separated but a moment, when Rachel Underwood issued 
from the same door, and followed after Mr. Slack. 

“ Why ! ” exclaimed that individual as Rachel overtook 
him, “are you here, Miss Underwood ? ” 

“Seems I am,” replied Rachel. “And I was there, 
too. You’ve done your part all right : come to-morrow 
night and get your pay.” 

As they reached a crossing, Rachel darted off in her 
peculiar, gliding way, allowing her surprised junior no 
time for his inevitable flow of words, and saying to her- 
self : 

“The thing is well afoot. Oh, what a grand scheme ! 
Pink and white, you shall be all white ! Rose Maitland to 
Joe Hamerton : how does that sound? The scourge is 
being woven — and I will wait!” 


214 WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 

“ A queer one ! ” muttered Mr. Slack as he pursued his 
homeward way, “ and knowing as queer. She was there 
too, was she, and I never dreaming it. What does she 
mean anyway ? Does she love the child ? Or is she 
raising him to raise herself? — or what? Maitland didn’t 
recognize the old woman’s voice. No wonder the way it 
sounds. Holloa ! here’s Applegate’s ; I better hustle along 
before he sends a cop after me to get that last month’s 
bill.” 


MOLLIE 'S EYES DO NOT DECEIVE HER. 


2I 5 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

MOLLIE HUMSTONE's EYES DO NOT DECEIVE HER. 

When Lawyer Hardangle returned to his home the even- 
ing after his conversation with Shadow, he brought with 
him a large, tin cash-box, which he immediately bore to 
his bedroom and secured in his ever-locked closet. 

“These are uncertain days,” he muttered as he turned 
away. “Cash is the only safe commodity. Outlaws 
can’t conveniently keep bank-accounts. Before many 
days, Moll, my girl, the bulk of your snug little fortune 
will be under the same roof with you.” 

The lawyer partook of his dinner in gloomy silence, 
and was mechanically looking over his evening paper in 
the library, when the basement-bell rang. The doughty 
housekeeper answered the jingling summons. She be- 
stowed a peering glance upon the applicant for admission, 
and recognizing the features of the girl with the baby, 
exclaimed : 

“What! You! What brings you to me? How did 
you know I lived here ? Unless my eyes very much 
deceive me, you are the one who thought I could have 
two. Are you really and truly a bad one ? ” 

To all these interrogatories Rachel Underwood deigned 
no further reply than to say with a scornful toss of her 
head : 

“Mind your own business, you old prude! I'd have 
gone to the upper door if I’d known you worked here — 
with your sniffs and your snorts. I want to see your 
boss : where is he ? ” 

Mrs. Humstone’s natural bent urged her to enter a 
vigorous protest against the application of such an im- 
pudent designation to herself, and of a term implying so 


2l6 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


much superiority to her future husband. But a quick 
instinct of self-interest prevailed. Molly’s bosom had 
lately been lacerated by a most grievous bereavement, 
and Rachel offered a possible clue towards the retrieving 
of that bereavement. In fine, Mary, the old and well- 
beloved gray, had mysteriously been parted from her 
foster-mother; and as Molly’s mind was by no means 
free from the suspicion that the man with the monkey, 
who had taken such a liking to the cat, could shed light 
upon her disappearance, if only his abiding-place were dis- 
covered, she naturally felt a desire to conciliate the good 
favor of the young woman before her. For, as will be 
remembered, the widow had firmly determined in her own 
mind that the individual with the monkey and the girl 
with the baby were offshoots of the same parent stalk. 
Self-interest, therefore, gaining the mastery, she quietly 
observed : 

“ I hope you won’t take my questions too hard, Miss. 
They sort of popped out of my mouth at seeing you so 
suddenly. Come in : I want to have a little talk with 
you. Now, sit down and be easy a minute, and I’ll go up 
to Mr. Hardangle directly. I’m sure you remember the 
day I first saw you, as well as I do. Well, after you left 
me that afternoon I came across your brother, and we had 
some little words together. Now, Miss, what I wanted to 
say is : Could you tell me where he lives ? I sha’nT do 
him no harm, and it might do me a power of good. Now 
just could you tell — and would you ? ” 

“No, I couldn’t just tell,” returned Rachel shortly, 
“and I wouldn’t just take the trouble if I could. So lets 
have done with your talk, or the first thing I know you’ll 
be asking me about my baby again, and she’s dead. I 
want to see the lawyer and I want to see him now.” 

“Miss,” said Molly, the while congratulating herself 
upon her craftiness, “ Miss, would you like a piece of ope 
of my mince pies ? ” 

“Oh, heavens!” exclaimed Rachel. “Do you take 
me for a child or a fool ? I say I want to see the lawyer 


MOLLIE '$ EYES DO NOT DECEIVE HER. 


217 


right away, and if you don’t help me, I’ll run through the 
house till I do.” 

“My pies are no food for children, I’d have you to 
know, you ill-bred thing!” rejoined Molly tartly. “I’m 
thinking that Mr. Hardangle has no time to waste in lis- 
tening to such a pert tongue as you carry in your head. 
Give me your name.” 

To the housekeeper’s chagrin, Mr. Hardangle desired 
the young woman’s attendance. 

“Miss Underwood,” he said, as Rachel entered, “sit 
down. ” 

Rachel having taken the chair indicated, the two sat 
facing one another fixedly in silence. Rachel was the 
first to break the spell. 

“Well,” she said, “ I’m waiting.” 

Before the lawyer spoke, he took a loaded revolver 
from the drawer at his hand, cocked it and laid it upon 
the table. Then, lifting his eyes to those of his companion, 
he said : 

“You see it, Miss Underwood. Before we begin, let’s 
name it. What do you think would be a good name ? ” 

“A Fool’s Trick!” cried Rachel disdainfully. “See 
here, man, that’s too silly. It’s even sillier than mince 
pies. I don’t scare worth a cent, and never did. Put 
the pop-gun back in the drawer. I didn’t come here for 
such fooling, nor yet for a long spout. I gave you terms 
and you took them : all that’s left is for you to hand over 
the cash.” 

“Don’t you scare, Miss ? Maybe not ; but all the bra- 
vado in the world can’t save you unless I’ve a mind it 
shall. So you would call it ‘ A Fool’s Trick.’ I call it 
‘The Last Argument. ’ In other words, Miss, I’m a des- 
perate man at times, and can, as you’ve found out in some 
devilish way or other, do desperate things. So much for 
that : now to our business. You made a demand upon 
me for certain moneys : I promised said moneys. I now 
revoke that promise, and refuse to let you have so much 
as a cent. ” 


2l8 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Then, sir, I start this minute for our friend the Inspec- 
tor. You have your choice, Mr. Lawyer Hardangle.” 

“I do have my choice this time ! ” retorted the man of 
law. “Before you go to the police you’re so fond of talk- 
ing about, you’d better hunt up your lovely parent and 
learn from him what a certain red-whiskered lawyer said 
to him last night. Oh, you come of precious good stock, 
Miss ! If you do, you’ll discover that the minute Lawyer 
Hardangle is exposed, at that precise minute murderer 
Shadow goes the same road.” 

“You scheming rascal ! ” cried Rachel. “ Do you think 
I wasn’t prepared for all this ? Do you think Shadow 
didn’t come to me last night and tell me all? Don’t I 
know you wouldn’t take the risk of my not telling for 
Shadow’s sake ? Besides, Mr. Lawyer, did Shadow forge 
a will? Has anybody got any papers which prove that 
he forged any wills ? Mr. Lawyer, you’re a rascal and a 
fool ! ” 

“Am I a fool in your dear estimation? Then, lest I 
remain one, I will say that I knew he’d been to you the 
minute I saw you were not surprised at my seeming 
change of mind. I merely meant to try you. 

“You say, Miss Underwood, that you would imme- 
diately apply to the authorities : I know you would not. 
What advantage would accrue to you from such a step ? 
Your game would be up the moment you opened your 
mouth. Then where is all our expected booty ? Alas ! 
you are growing older every day : you cannot expect 
your good looks to bring you in a livelihood much 
longer ” 

“ Shut up, I say ! ” 

— “Then where is our bread and butter to come from? 
No, you are too shrewd for such a course. Let us then 
make some more reasonable arrangement. I will do this 
much : for your skill or luck in discovering what you 
have, I agree to support you the rest of your life, be it 
longer or shorter. I will give you such a sum as will sup- 
port you in ease, good looks or dried looks. ” 


MOLLIE 'S EYES DO NOT DECEIVE HER. 


219 


“ I tell you to stop ! ” cried Rachel. “I'll hear no more 
such stuff. I’ll have as much of that half-million as I like, 
or I’ll have none — nor you either. It’s not only money I 
want : it’s your money. If money was all, I could get 
any amount without troubling you. I’ve far richer ones 
than you to call on.” 

“You are not lying now,” said the man of law, “how- 
ever much you have been lying heretofore. Yes, you 
have the one who is the father of your child. Oh, you 
see I know him well enough, Miss Underwood. Oh, 
yes ; I had forgotten about him. ” 

“You don’t know him at all, liar ! ” 

“Just as you say, Miss ; but before you make up your 
mind so firmly you might run up to your old friend the 
mother of the home, and ask her whether she ever had a 
call from me.” 

“You sneak ! Madame Guillon wouldn’t tell you any- 
thing if you did. ” 

“Madame Guillon is capable of a good many things. 
It seems that she has told me about one of her cases. 
Yes, yes, I know Robert Moreland well, Miss Underwood 
— the more shame to you. You didn’t suppose the lady 
was in that business because she was a saint, did you ? ” 

“I tell you,” cried Rachel, rising to her feet, “I don’t 
care if you do know him ! It’s well for you he don’t know 
you. Will you give me that money or won’t you ? Oh, 
don’t point your pistol at me ! Shoot me if you want ; 
and, if your servant don’t give you away in the morning, 
you’ll fall into hands which I alone know how to restrain 
— hands through which I’ve found out what I have. Oh, 
shoot away, Mr. Murderer, if you like the looks of the 
future ! ” 

“I had no idea of shooting,” replied the man of law, 
coolly laying aside the weapon. “ I only wanted to see 
if you’d say what you have, though, of course, there’s no 
telling whether it’s to be believed or not. Yes, I’ll give 
you the money, since there’s nothing to be got out of you 
by keeping you longer.” 


220 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


So saying, the man of law left the room, and when he 
returned he brought with him a small tin box which he 
had taken from his cash-box upstairs. This he placed in 
Rachel’s hands. 

“There is the sum, Miss Underwood. All’s fair in war, 
and you have beaten me. We will talk no longer. 
Good-night. ” 

Rachel tucked the treasure triumphantly under her 
shawl, and Lawyer Hardangle showed her to the door, a 
look of malice and revenge lividly gleaming from his dark 
face. 

“Joe Collins,” he muttered, as he returned to the library, 
“ you must ever be on the watch from this hour. There’s 
no telling what can happen now. There may be, there 
must be, others in it, and if she dies, look out. I’ll slip 
this little fellow into my pocket and keep it there so they 
sha’n’t take me alive.” 


EVERYTHIN K IS THAT HIGH FOR MAMMY. 


221 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

EVERYTH INK IS THAT HIGH FOR MAMMY. 

Joe boy had not long been established in Philip Mait- 
land’s schoolroom under the care of Mr. Sidgwick, when 
his love and fidelity determined his manly little head to 
forego for a time his childish studies, and spend his whole 
time with the only mother he knew. For mammy was 
rapidly preparing “to move.” The kind physician had 
shaken his head and said it was of no use. Sorrow and toil 
and privation had done their work well, as they are ever 
doing it, quite unheeded by us who have our own little toils 
and sorrows to engross us. Mammy’s needle had sewed 
its last seam — taken its last stitch. She would never 
uncomplainingly work “a bit hard and a bit long ’’any 
more. Her tireless resolution could carry her no further, 
and she who had been “that tired to stand long,” was 
too tired to sit long, and would not now have to lie long 
in her bed. She was made as comfortable as her sur- 
roundings would permit, and she well repaid all efforts in 
her behalf by her quiet smile of gratitude, which mutely 
said : 

“ I’m wery obliged to you.” 

It was mournful indeed to see how rapidly mammy 
sank from the day she took to her bed. Having subsisted 
form any months almost wholly upon will-power, it was 
not surprising that the moment she was compelled to give 
up she collapsed utterly. Joe boy scarcely left her side ; 
and though he was so young, the sinking woman could 
have had no more efficient or tender nurse. But his stout 
heart which had not flinched before cold and want, did 
quail before the prospect of being left alone — utterly 
without known kin in the wide world. Joe boy was but 


222 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


young ; and though he had spent his days in the very 
kingdom of death, death was mysterious and awful to 
him. One afternoon, as he was sitting upon the bed, 
mammy weakly stretched out her thin hand — deformed 
by hard and ceaseless stitching, and placed it upon his. 

“Joe boy,” she said, “I’m glad as how it came afore I 
had to go. I’ll die easier for knowing as you are to be a 
fine and a good one.” 

“Oh, mammy!” exclaimed the little fellow, the tears 
streaming down his cheeks, “don’t talk so ! You mustn’t 
go, mammy ! ” 

“Poor Joey, poor Joey, you knows as how I’d like to 
stay by you ; but I can’t, Joe boy, can’t. And I’m going 
wery soon now — wery soon. I’m played, Joey, played — 
though I never complained.” 

“Oh, don’t! mammy, don’t ! I doesn’t want to be a 
fine one unless as how I can help you and move you to 
somewhere better. ” 

“Yes, yes, Joey, you must be a fine one, and you will 
— I feels it. But now, Joe boy, I must tell you some- 
think, so if I should go sudden-like, it would be all right. 
In the straw under me there’s money to bury me decent — 
not like a pauper in a box. Did you hear, boy ? I talks 
that low-like, and I seems to be that played.” 

“Yes, mammy, I hears. But don’t talk no more now : 
it rightly plays you too much. ” 

“A little more, Joey — about them as you’ve never seen. 
I feel that worn and played that I’m afeard — I’ll go to- 
day. So tell them — if you sees them — that I loved them 
yet, Joe boy, loved them yet. ” Mammy paused a moment 
to rest before continuing. “And about him as wronged 
her as we doesn’t name — if you ever does find him — tell 
him — yes, tell him — as I forgave him, too. And don’t 
you raise your hand agin him, Joey — for he’ll be punished 
for it — and you wouldn’t be fine and good — if you was — 
to touch — him.” 

Mammy, quite exhausted, closed her eyes and lay 
white and motionless upon her pillow. While she lay 


E VR Y THINK IS THA T HIGH FOR MAMMY. 223 

thus in silence, the door softly opened and Philip Mait- 
land entered the room. He had seen mammy the morn- 
ing of the preceding day, and, though he was accustomed 
to scenes of death, and knew that she must go soon, he 
was much shocked, as he softly approached the bed, to 
see how terribly she had failed. As he sympathetically 
placed his hand upon Joe boy’s head, mammy opened her 
eyes and recognized him. 

“I’m wery obliged to you, sir,” she said with a faint 
smile. 

“ Don’t speak of me, my poor woman,” replied Philip, 
taking a seat upon the bed. “You are very weak, aren’t 
you ? ” 

“A bit, sir; but I doesn’t complain. Yes, sir, I’m 
almost done. The day and me will go together, I'm 
thinking. Poor Joe boy ! don’t take on so. Almost done, 
sir. ” 

“I fear so, my woman : there’s no use in hiding it 
from you. You’re very bad. But we must all die some 
time. You’re not afraid to go ? ” 

“A bit, sir. Not as I’ve ever been a coward, or any- 
thing like that. But it’s new, is dying. And I fear as I’ve 
been none too good, sir, and graves are that cold and 
dark and strange.” 

“Yes, yes, Mrs. Hamerton, but you’ll never know any- 
thing about a grave. Shall I tell you how you needn’t be 
afraid to die ? ” 

“If you would, sir. And quick; because I’m that 
played.” 

“ Have you ever heard of God, my woman ? ” 

“A bit, sir. One as we doesn’t name used to sing 
about Him when she was in the school. But I’ve most 
forgot all I ever did know about Him ; I’ve lived in a poor 
sort of a place and He ain’t much set by here. May be 
He don’t come into such sort of places — who’d blame Him ? 
He be a great way off, I’m thinking ; and yet now as I’m 
going somfihow it’s Him as I’m afeard of.” 

" Now, my dear woman,” quickly replied Philip with 


224 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


an assuring* smile, “ if that is your trouble you’re all 
right. He loves you.” 

“Loves, sir? That is a rightly good word. But I’m 
thinking as how it can’t rightly be true — what you says. 
No, I hain’t been the best of women, sir, and I fears as 
how I’ve took my own way.” 

“Have you, Mrs. Hamerton ? Then you’re better off 
than ever ; for it’s just such that He seems to like the best. 
At least, He had a Son, and a very long time ago He sent 
him to the earth out of the sky. Now this Son was very 
kind and He said that His Father had sent Him to seek and 
to save those that had taken their own way, as you say, 
and so were lost. ” 

“That do sound wery good, sir ! ” 

“Yes, and more yet, my woman. This Son spent His 
life going about among the bad and the poor in the down- 
town of his city ” 

“Just like you, sir.” 

— “And He cured the people that were sick, and He made 
men happy when they were sad. And He told everybody 
who wanted to be good and not afraid to die, that they 
should do as He was doing. And that’s the reason I’ve 
tried to do a little for you and Joe boy.” 

‘ ‘ Is it, sir ? Then I know that He must have been wery 
good and kind. And, oh, I’m wery obliged to you ! ” 

“Say to Him, my woman. Well, in spite of all He did 
for them men hated Him ” 

“That were bad, sir.” 

— “And after a time they killed Him. But before he died 
He said that that was just what He had come for — to die 
for all those that did not want to be afraid to die.” 

“ How is that, sir ? ” 

“This, my woman : that nobody need be afraid to 
die any more, because His dying was their punishment for 
taking their own way.” 

“Oh, sir, that do seem rightly most too good to be 
true ! ” 

"And yet it is all very true, His Father agreed to let 


E VER Y THINK IS THA T HIGH FOR MAMMY. 225 

Him take the punishment for all the men that would thank 
Him for it. Y es, yes, He took it all for you and for me, Mrs. 
Hamerton ; and so we need neither of us be afraid to go.” 

“ Is that the whole, sir? ” 

“ That’s the whole.” 

“ Oh, sir, it’s funny, but it do seem wery good and true — 
almost as if I had known it all before. And so I needn’t 
be afraid of God when I’m dead because I can say : 4 You 
let your Son be beat for me. ’ ” 

Philip could not keep back the tears that welled in his 
eyes as he replied : 

“ That is it, my woman — beat for me.” 

“Beat for me, beat for me,” mammy faintly repeated. 
“Why it do seem as I saw it all plain, sir. And will I see 
that Son there, so I can say : ‘ I’m wery obliged to You, 

Sir?" 

“Yes, yes,” responded Philip, wiping away the tears. 

“And all for love, all for love ! Can you hear, Joe boy 
— all for love ! Seems as I do feel mighty like crying, 
sir — but I hain’t been no great hand at that.” 

Mammy ceased and a silence fell through the room as the 
shades of evening gathered in. After a few moments’ rest, 
she again open her eyes and whispered : 

“The day is going, Joey — going. Dear Joe boy — such 
a comfort ! Somethink good afore I went. So glad. Fine 
and good. I’ll tell that One to give an eye to you. Say 
— I — loved — them — yet. ” 

Joe boy was too grief-stricken and overawed to speak, 
and again there was silence in the room for a number of 
minutes. Then mammy rose up suddenly and a bright 
smile played over her worn face, as she said eagerly : 

“ I’m wery obliged to You, Sir ! ” 

Whom she spoke to, Philip could only guess ; for when 
the lips ceased to move they moved no more. And so, 
while the cold wind swept bleakly over the slant roof, 
mammy went with the day, apd moved up where “every* 
think is that high, ” 


226 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN UNDECIDED DECISION. 

And all this time what of Robert Moreland ? Having 
cast the die, having finally decided that there was only one 
course which he could pursue, he surely has revealed his 
bitter secret and stood before his beloved’s eyes a trans- 
gressor and a hypocrite. But no, not so ! Inconceivable as 
it may appear, the dark, ugly secret is a secret still. All the 
circumstances of the case remained unchanged ; Rachel 
Underwood’s threats were not retracted ; and yet Robert 
Moreland’s secret was not unlocked from its prison in the 
hidden chambers of his soul. Rachel’s muttered words, 
as she turned from him at the City Hall, had been a proph- 
ecy. She had seen clearly — had read his character 
aright. She had unconsciously perceived that the true 
reason of her failure lay not in his devotion to Duty, but 
in his adherence to Pleasure. It had been less distasteful 
to him to face exposure than to accede to her demands. 
She had felt well assured that, under the same leadership, he 
would delay the fatal hour from time to time, and each day 
of continued immunity would but augment the ease of 
his procrastination. No, Robert had not yet been “his 
own detective.” A thousand times since he informed 
his wife that he should be forced to tell her all on the mor- 
row, he had determined with himself that he would speak ; 
but when the appointed hour would come and the crucial 
moment was on him, his heart would fail, his resolution 
weaken, and all virtue go out of him. Each evening he 
would tell in the morning, and every morning he would 
tell in the evening. Like all procrastinators, he was strong 
for any time but the present — in which alone action is pos- 
sible, His wife he continued to mislead from time to time, 


AN UNDECIDED DECISION. 


227 


by telling her that things had not been just what he had 
had expected, and that it did not seem best to him that 
she should yet know, and the subject gradually came to 
be little discussed between them. 

The morning after Philip Maitland’s late call, Robert was 
seated at his desk as usual, running rapidly through the 
bunch of letters which he found awaiting him. A bill for 
this ; a receipt for that ; an order for the other. But this 
fourth is in a woman’s hand — no business letter. He 
opened it and read : 

“Mr. Robert Moreland, 

Dear Sir : — You will, perhaps, remember a certain 
conversation which I held with you one night in a certain 
small, dark room concerning a certain dark young woman. 
Having learned your name from that same young woman 
by dint of my tender offices, and being now in need of a 
little pecuniary aid, I take the great liberty of addressing 
you for the trifling loan of #50.00. I am, sir, 

Yours very truly, 

Madame Guillon. 

P. S. — I happen to remember it. G. ” 

Robert re-read the letter and then tore in into twenty 
pieces. 

“If she thinks — scheming villain that she was! — that 
she can squeeze money out of me by threatening me with 
exposure, she’s much mistaken,” he said to himself, as he 
sat at his desk trying to write. “To-night, when Rex is 
safely in bed and we are in our usual seats, I’ll reveal my 
whole heart. But, my God ! how a man’s past does haunt 
him ! I think I had best drop a note to her immediately, 
and let her know that Florence will know all without any 
of her assistance, and that from the man who committed 
the offence. Perhaps, however, I had better wait until 
to-morrow. After I’ve done it, my letter will have more 
weight. If I can say my wife knows all, it will be a crusher 
to her.” 


228 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


The Past slowly drew the hours of another day back 
into its all-enfolding bosom, and the sound of hurrying 
feet on the pavement grew into the busy tramp of an army. 
Robert Moreland heard the hastening throng, and it 
spread a foreboding chill through all his frame. He sought 
to brace himself for the duty which lay before him. For, 
in some unaccountable manner, the duty which he had 
felt quite strong to undertake in the morning, while a 
whole day stretched between him and it, was rapidly as- 
suming frightful and menacing proportions. His resolu- 
tion was alarmingly faint and he felt a debasing cowardice 
stifling his manhood. 

He lingered awhile in the office striving to renew the 
confidence of the morning. He called up Rachel’s dark 
menace and Madame Guidon’s insinuating letter, that their 
remembrance might buttress his sorely shattered defences. 
But he could not recall the resolution of the morning. He 
resolved to go home and see whether Florence’s love 
would strengthen him. Rex’s thoughtless prattle might di- 
vert him, and he could come at the matter with fresh 
courage. And so Robert Moreland returned to his wife 
and boy. Did he reveal his secret that night ? Oh, no. 
If the assurance of the morning had. been quite unattain- 
able at the store, his increased nearness in time and asso- 
ciation to the supreme moment, buried it a hundred fathoms 
deep. Oh, how could he devastate that unsuspicious, lov- 
ing bosom at his side ! She would pardon and restore him 
—that he fully believed — but how could he wound her so 
suddenly and so sharply ! She had placed him upon a lofty 
pedestal that she might bow down before him and worship 
her idol : how could he become a ruthless iconoclast? 
That ardent, selfish passion of devotion — he could not, 
would not blight it to-night ! The very idea set his heart 
thumping. Perhaps the courage which had been his that 
morning, would return with a new day. ‘‘Not to-night, 
not to-night ! There is no danger to-night. To-morrow — 
some other time will do,” Poor, deluded one ! who for- 


AN UNDECIDED DECISION. 


229 

got that the courage of the morning had been but a courage 
looking to the present moment of weakness. 

As it began, so it had continued. In accord with Rachel’s 
prophecy, each passing day of exemption from penalty had 
rendered the continued postponement of his self-betrayal 
less troublesome, until at length he quite ceased to agree 
with himself upon any exact hour for its execution, and 
actually to indulge the hope that Rachel had forgotten to 
fulfil a threat which could be of no gain to her, and aban- 
doned herself to her life of sin and shame. 

Madame Guillon never received the crushing letter which 
Robert had determined to send ! On the contrary, she 
slickly fattened upon ill-gotten booty ever increasing in 
amount, and her voluble brother found his ‘‘extras ” pleas- 
antly augmenting from time to time — a fact which caused 
the Side Pocket to grow no less fat and flourishing. 

It was with divided joy that Florence Moreland received 
her husband’s announcement that he hoped to be able still 
to hide from her that which could only cause her pain. 
Her heart had grown lighter as she observed the lines of 
distress slowly fading into indistinctness on her husband’s 
face ; and yet, though no shadow of doubt cast its gloom 
over her noble mind, she almost unconsciously realized 
that something was not just as it had been. There was 
the same love, the same tender devotion on both sides, 
and yet a dim, spectral something seemed ever mutely 
present in the house. Seek to deny it or disown it as she 
might ; endeavor to convince herself that it did not exist, 
by logically excluding all place for it ; do what she would, 
nothing would quite bring again the hour of untouched 
and unquestioned bliss. And yet, had she been asked, 
with perfect honesty and ingenuousness she would have 
replied that Robert and she were just as contented and 
happy in each other’s love as they had ever been. 

“Women know no perfect love.” A woman said it. 
Perhaps a woman with more head than heart. It is not 
the part of this history to take issue with the sentiment. 
Let this only be said, that the reason assigned for it by its 


230 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


author, applied to the case of Robert Moreland and his 
wife, would have been most inapt and false. Certain it is 
that no one knowing all the truth, could have stood within 
the walls of that beautiful home and written : 

“ Loving the strong, they can forsake the strong : 

Man clings because the being whom he loves 
Is weak and needs him,” 


AT THE MISSION. 


231 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

AT THE MISSION. 

This narration of sorrowful events and dark intrigues, 
which transpired within the noisy limits of our great metro- 
polis quite unnoted by the metropolitans (who are too 
vastly absorbed in the market-prices of everything that 
may be priced to give much consideration to any other 
theme), leaving poor mammy to be buried in Christian 
burial, from her own hard-saved earnings, moves on past 
the date of the formal opening of Philip Maitland’s Hall, 
to a time somewhat beyond it. During this period, Joe 
boy was a boarder, with Rachel Underwood’s consent and 
at her expense, in the snug little home of Ralph Sidgwick, 
who will be recalled as the teacher of Philip’s school, a 
position which he still filled, though now in the roomier 
and sweeter quarters afforded by an airy apartment in the 
rear of Philip’s commodious Hall. 

Philip’s philanthropic enterprise was a gratifying success. 
Not only its school, but also its baths, its gymnasium, its 
music-room, its billiard-parlor and its cheery and tasteful 
reading-room, were well patronized ; and while Philip was 
able to point out homes rehabilitated, young men and 
women rescued from a deeper descent upon the mad slope 
of sin and shame, men and women grown old in vice and 
crime, reclaimed to a long-lost light and purity, he could 
not begin to estimate the subtile and far-reaching influence 
of this his life’s work in elevating, and re-invigorating with 
a renewed and nobler life, hearts conqeived in sin and 
born in iniquity. 

Upon a certain February afternoon, in that apartment 
of “ The People’s Hall ” set aside and furnished for Philip’s 
office, sat little Rose Maitland and mammy’s Joe boy — 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


232 

Rose with flaxen hair and laughing blue eyes, Joe dark in 
hair and skin and with large dark eyes. They were a 
winning picture as they sat there in the closing light of 
that winter’s day, and no most' acute observer, looking 
upon them, could have told which was beggar and which 
was lord. 

“Wasn’t it funny,” said little Rose, “ that brother Phil 
should have taken me to your house that time ? ” 

“ It was nice, too,” returned Joe. “I almost forgot we 
were poor and sick, because you made me think so much.” 

“You don’t think rich people are any better than poor 
ones, do you ? ” continued Rose. 

“ No ! ” stoutly responded Joe boy. 

“I don’t either. Only mamma and Madge do, and they 
try to make me, but I won’t. You’re poor — or you used to 
be — but you’re just as nice as Rex Moreland. Isn’t it 
strange? I’m his aunt. You’re just as nice as he is — 
nicer. ” 

Joe boy’s countenance plainly revealed that he was not 
insensible to this touch. 

“Some rich people are awful nice,” he observed with 
deep cunning, “ but as long as I live I never expect to find 
any rich one as nice as my poor mammy. She used to 
feel things and they came out right, too. She used to feel, 
before she took and died, that I was going to be a fine, 
good, big man some day : do you think I will, Rose ? ” 

“I know you will. You’ll be as nice as Rex any way. 
I’m going to have a party — all my own. ” 

“You are ? ” 

“Yes, and — I hope you won’t mind — I wanted to ask 
you, but Madge made such a dreadful fuss, and mamma 
said perhaps I better not. But I wanted you just the 
same, and that’s just as good as coming.” 

“ I guess it’s just as good as far as you go,” replied the 
boy, “but somehow it don’t seem just the same. You’ll 
like other boys who always have been rich and used to 
going to parties and things, a good deal better than you 
will me.” 


A T THE MISSION. 


233 


“ No, I won’t ! ” exclaimed Rose with Edenic freedom 
from shame. “ They seem more like girls than you do. 
And besides, they don’t know anything about all the 
things we do down here at brother Phil’s ; and they haven't 
ever been in a tenement in all their life ; and they haven’t 
got such pretty eyes as you.” 

At this most interesting point in the conversation, there 
was a knock at the street door, and Joe ran to call Peter, 
the janitor. Peter having duly arrived with his character- 
istic shuffle, threw open the door to a woman of striking 
appearance, rather gaudily dressed and with a peculiar, 
almost wild expression in her great dark eyes. 

“Well, mum?” 

“ Is Mr. Maitland in ? ” 

“No, mum. He’s out. Leave a message?” 

“ How long is he likely to be gone? ” 

“As much as half-an-hour, mum.” 

While this conversation was in progress, the woman 
was eagerly devouring with her eyes the two small occu- 
pants of the room, and there was an expression upon her 
handsome face which might have said : “As I intended, 
as I intended.” 

“I’ll come in and wait for him,” she said, “ if I may. 
Children and I always get along well, and we will be com- 
pany for each other.” 

So saying, the woman entered and took her place near the 
door upon the sofa where Rose and Joe boy were seated. 

“How nice it is here,” she said, after Peter had re- 
sponded, “Yes, mum,” and shuffled away. “ What is your 
name, little girl ? ” 

“My name is Miss Rose Maitland,” replied Rose with 
becoming dignity. 

“ Miss Rose Maitland ! ” repeated the woman. “It can’t 
be that you’re a little sister of Mr. Philip Maitland ? ” 

“He’s my big brother, ma’am.” 

“Oh, isn’t that nice! And can you be Miss Rose’s 
brother ? ” turning to Joe boy. 

The children both laughed. 


234 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“ Oh, no, ma’am,” said Joe. “I’m only a — I’m another 
boy. We only know each other.” 

“ And won’t you tell me your name, too ? ” 

“ My name is Joe — Joe Hamerton.” 

“Joe Hamerton — that’s a nice name, too. What a good 
time you both must have here together. You’ve both got 
such nice names, and you’re both so pretty. Some day 
you’ll be falling in love, if you’re not careful. Why, you 
said Joe Hamerton, didn’t you ? Dear me ! I didn’t 
think : you must be the one I know about. Yes, yes, I 
know the lady that sends you money by a Mr. Slack, my 
little fellow. She’s a friend of mine, and such a nice lady. 
What do you suppose she told me the other day ? ” 

Joe boy didn’t know. 

“Well, she said that when you grew up, as she hadn’t 
any little boys and girls of her own, she meant to call you 
her boy and give you plenty of money to live on, and 
when she dies leave you enough to make you a very rich 
man. Yes, that’s what she told me. So if you ever should 
fall in love with Miss Rose, you’d have plenty of money 
and be almost as rich as she was. But there, I’ve told 
you both what I came to tell Mr. Maitland, and so I won’t 
have to wait for him any longer. You can remember it 
between you, I’m sure.” 

Receiving an assuring answer, she took a sweet good- 
bye, and went her way, saying to herself as she went : 

“As if I didn’t know he wasn’t there and they were ! 
That’s a good point scored. Must be occasionally repeated 
to keep it fresh in mind. Ah, pink and white, you shall 
be all white ! Rose Maitland to Joe Hamerton. What a 
scheme ! It will work — it shall work — it is working ! 
Will you come to me, then, Robert Moreland, sooner than 
be exposed ? Oh, God ! my head does feel queer ! ” 

“Just another of mammy’s feels!” cried Joe. “She 
felt it was money before, and it was ; and now it’s money 
again. I suppose I’ll be awful rich, and I’ll do heaps of 
good to poor people when I am. Do you suppose they’d 
let me come to your party if they knew ? ” 


A T THE MISSION. 


235 

“I guess may be, perhaps, they would,” responded 
Rose. “If they knew it was going to be — oh, a thousand 
hundred, I know they would. ” 

The dark woman, who was of course no other than 
Rachel Underwood, pursued her homeward way till it 
brought her to the same rough tenement and to the identi- 
cal room in which we have been wont to see her. To be 
sure, the room is warmed by a new stove, and the old, di- 
lapidated wall has been renewed, and some comforts have 
been added ; yet none the less there is nothing to account 
for the presence of this handsome, highly-dressed woman 
here, except the potent influence of habit and association. 
The present is the child of the past : the fetters of the past 
are fetters which hold. 

“ I've been so wild and bad again,” she said, seating 
herself before the stove and speaking in a whisper with a 
puzzled contraction of her brows, as if all connected 
thinking were difficult and distressing. “I've been so wild 
and bad with all my money (and I must get another 
thousand from the old murderer soon), that Robert’s al- 
most gone out of my mind. I’d like to see him here once 
more: I feel kind of hungry for him. Told? No indeed, 
he hasn’t told — don’t dream of telling — thinks I’ve for- 
gotten him. I’ll write him that I’ve reformed and he has 
nothing to fear, and ask him to come and see how I’m 
fixed up and talk tome and make me good. That’ll bring 
him ; and hearing from me after this time, will scare him 
up a bit and make him curious to know whether I’m telling 
the truth. Oh, heavenly Lord ! I wish my head didn’t 
feel so queer and shaky. It scares me ! ” 

That night Rachel, in common with hundreds of others 
from like tenements, attended the free concert at The 
People’s Hall. What a strange audience was assembling 
there ! Now a poor, lone woman, worn to skin and 
bones by hard work and harder wages ; now a smart 
young dude, intent on prey ; now a saucy shop-girl with 
a dissolute male companion, “out for a lark now a 
good, wholesome house-servant with red cheeks and 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


236 

redder hands ; now a tottering, gray-haired man bowing 
towards the grave with the weight of years or vice ; now 
a bevy of young girls, alone or with a similar bevy of 
highly-perfumed beaux ; now a set of rollicking youths 
“ in for whatever was up.” Families and friends, youth 
and age, pickpockets and jail-birds, incendiaries and 
assassins, men, women and children of all ages and 
descriptions — in they flowed, drawn by the universal love 
of music, until the Hall was filled and the doors were 
closed. 

The most interesting event of the evening was the ren- 
dering of “ Home, Sweet Home” by a Mrs. Avington. As 
her thrilling, sympathetic voice poured forth the well- 
known words of the final song, the house grew quieter and 
quieter, until an absolute stillness prevailed. “There’s 
no place like home, There’s no place like home.” The 
deathly silence broken only by that sweet, feeling voice, 
what heart could refuse to melt under it ? One old man 
on the right gave way, and his broken sobs added to the 
intensity of the occasion. An answering sob escaped 
from a young girl who sat near him, whose early country 
home, with its kind parents and brothers and sisters, had 
been sadly obliterated by woful sin. Poor broken-hearted 
and broken-spirited women, who had known better homes 
before John went to the bad and Jake took to drink, wept 
freely. Even rough men, whose hearts had known no 
softening touch for long years, wiped away unwilling 
tears with their great rough hands. It was a melting 
scene. 

After the concert, Rachel returned to her attic with 
emotions which withered her heart, and sadly augmented 
the “queer” feeling of her head. And Robert Moreland 
was growing happier every day ! Pursuant to her resolve, 
the following day she betook herself to Philip’s reading- 
room and penned the following note to her betrayer : 

“You’ve almost forgotten me by this time, and I had 
almost forgotten you. If you haven’t told yet, you 


A T THE MISSION. 


2 37 


needn’t. I’ve reformed at last and you have nothing to 
fear. I’ve been wild and bad again and I want to be 
good. I’m writing you this to ask you to come to me 
some night soon and see how I’m fixed up, and talk to me 
the way you tried to once when I wouldn’t let you. Say 
you come Friday night : I’ll meet you at the City Hall at 
half-past eight. 


Rachel. 


238 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


CHAPTER XXX. 
a woman’s love. 

When Robert Moreland tore open Rachel’s letter and 
beheld her name inscribed below it, it seemed to him that 
some invisible hand of crime had treacherously plunged 
a cold steel deep into his heart. A sickening throe of 
agony quivered through his whole frame. His hands 
were clammy before he had read a word. His slumbering 
fears awoke with a rude start. He felt that his day of 
reckoning had come. Rachel had not forgotten him : he 
yet must confess ! Florence yet must suffer. His eyes 
strained to grasp the whole contents of the page at a 
glance. With breathless haste he read the note through. 
What should he think ? Was this sincere, or was it the 
first step in some wily scheme to compass his ruin ? If the 
latter, why had Rachel waited so long ? Had it required 
all this time to accomplish her menaces ? He read the 
note again and yet again. How open-hearted and repent- 
ant it sounded! Oh, if it were true! At all events the 
best he could do was to go to Rachel at the time appointed. 

Accordingly, on the Friday morning following, as he 
bade his wife good-bye for another day, he announced 
the probability of his being detained longer than usual in 
the office that afternoon. He might, he said, even be 
unable to return in time for dinner, and instructed her not 
to delay the meal for him. Of course he did not return, 
and half-past eight found him, as was to be expected, 
making his way at a rapid pace towards the City Hall. 
Arrived near it, he observed a tall, well-proportioned 
woman, rather conspicuously dressed, walking up and 
down the esplanade before it. To his surprise, this woman 
approached him with an air of recognition. What was 


A WOMAN'S LOVE. 


2 39 


his complete astonishment, when, on closer inspection, 
the woman proved to be no other than Rachel Under- 
w r ood. 

“Why, Rachel ! ” he exclaimed, “ is this you? ” 

“You must judge/' she replied. “I think it is.” 

“I did not recognize you at first.” 

“ Did you expect to see the same Rachel you left ? ” 

“Why yes, I suppose I did — in looks.” 

“That was only natural, perhaps. We forget how peo- 
ple change while we don't see them, and we haven’t seen 
each other in a long time. You haven’t changed so 
much, though. But come : it’s too cold to stand here 
any longer. We’ll go to my old quarters. You look sur- 
prised. You think it’s funny for one dressed like me to 
still be living there. Well, perhaps it is ; but somehow 
it’s been hard to think of getting away. You see it’s 
home there, and I'm used to it. But it’s warmer now 
and a little more fixed up — though there’s too many rats 
and mice about to make it sensible to fix up extra nice.” 

Rachel had already begun to lead in the old direction 
which Robert remembered. As he followed her, he found 
himself interrogating his own mind respecting the prob- 
ability of her reform from the evidence which he had al- 
ready received. She was much too highly dressed — he 
had seen that at a glance — and she had, he thought, 
watched him to mark the effect of her appearance upon 
him. Then, too, where had all the money come from ? 
And she was still living in the same forlorn tenement, 
amid the same scenes of filth and vice. Had her life 
felt the power of any deep and genuine repentance, would 
not almost her first impulse have been to get forever away 
from her vicious surroundings? He was disappointed, 
greatly disheartened ; and, as he followed the rapidly mov- 
ing woman, there crept over him a sensation of loath- 
some bitterness. 

Arrived at their destination, Robert found the narrow 
apartment quite rehabilitated and cheerful. The room 
was warm and light, the stove was well-blacked, the 


240 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


floor was carpeted, and a general air of neatness and com- 
fort prevailed. But these improvements tended little to 
reassure him. They might be but the evidence of a more 
refined degradation. 

“ This is better, ain’t it? ” said Rachel. 

“ Indeed it is, Rachel. I am more than glad to find you 
in so much sweeter quarters. But why do you stick to this 
miserable old building? You do not look well : there is a 
nervous unrest in your manner, and a strange, wild look 
in your eyes. This air is as filthy as the water in the 
gutter. Why don’t you move away from this ? If you 
need money you know I am ready and willing to furnish 
it.” 

‘‘You’re not speaking out, Mr. Moreland — I see you’re 
not. You suspect that all this fixing up may mean some- 
thing bad. I have been bad : I told you that in the letter. 
But I get the money from one who has wronged me ; it’s 
right that I should. He’s a rich one, too, and it don’t 
hurt him — not as much as it ought. No, Robert — Mr. 
Moreland, I mean — don’t suspect me. You ask me why 
I don’t move away from here. Some way I can’t. I 
know it ain’t healthy. No, I .don’t feel well. Perhaps 
that’s one reason I felt so much like seeing you. It made 
me lonely like. No, no, my head’s been queer again for 
some time. And oh, Mr. Moreland, I am glad to see 
you. It does me so much good. I hope you didn’t mind 
coming : you needn’t have come if you didn’t want to. 
Oh, talk to me the way you tried to that night when I 
wouldn’t listen to you, about being good. I’ve been so 
wild and bad again, and I’m sick of sinning, and oh, I 
want to be good — good ! ” 

Robert was strongly inclined to believe it. 

“I’m all unworthy to talk to any one, Rachel. Oh, I 
can never forgive myself, I can never enough curse my- 
self for my awful sin ! Talk to you ? What shall I say ? 
How can you believe me ? And yet, Rachel, I would see 
you again what you once were. I would see you out of 
this, and well and happy and good once more. Oh, I 


A WOMAN'S LOVE. 


241 


cannot preach to you, I cannot ! Have you ever heard of 
The People’s Hall, Rachel? ” 

“ We’ve all heard of that around here.” 

“Well, I am not worthy to talk to you : it seems blasphe- 
mous. Go to him — to Mr. Maitland, I mean. He’s good 
and he’s true and he’s almost sinless. Go to him, and 
talk with him. He will help you and give you hope and 
courage. He’s my brother-in-law.” 

“ Is he? ” 

“Yes, so don’t tell him my name if he asks you about 
your past life. Goodness! I never thought of that. You 
might have gone to him before, and not knowing who he 
was, have mentioned my name ! Have you indeed for- 
given me?” 

“Do you doubt it ? ” 

“Oh, Rachel, sin makes us doubt. But tell me : did 
you have any scheme in your mind when you threatened 
me, or were you only trying to frighten me into coming 
back ? ” 

“Both. Yes, I had a fearful scheme — fearful ! Oh, 
can I give it up ! ” 

“Do not excite yourself, Rachel,” said Robert, almost 
convinced of the woman’s sincerity. “You hardly seem 
yourself to-night. Your life has told on you. Can’t you 
tell me calmly what your plan was ? ” 

“ I’ll try, but I’m queer-like. Your being here seems to 
be too good for me to stand now. My scheme ? It was 
to send Shadow after your little Rex, and then make your 
coming to me the price of his return. ” 

“ My God above ! And why haven’t you done it ? ” 
“Because soon after you left, I got wild and bad again, 
and almost forgot you, as I wrote. ” 

“Oh, Rachel, Rachel, God forgive you for your forgive- 
ness of me ! How can you, how can you forgive ! ” 

As Robert spoke there was a wild rush of fevered long- 
ing to Rachel’s countenance. She sprang from the chair 
where she was sitting, and with an impassioned cry flung 
herself upon him and locked her arms about his neck, 

16 


242 WHERE THE TIDES MEET 

“How! How ! ” she cried. “Because I love you, 
Robert, my Robert ! Because I’m hungry for you ! Oh, 
come back to me — come back to your first love, who loves 
you still ! ” 

“The poor creature had but finished her wild cry, and 
Robert was in vain endeavoring to dislodge her arms from 
his neck, when there was a knock at the door. 

“For God’s sake, woman, forbear ! ” he hoarsely mut- 
tered. 

“No, no, no, Robert! It’s nobody but my bothersome 
neighbors. Go way from the door, I say ! I don’t want 
you here ! Oh, Robert, come, come, come back to me ! ” 

With all his efforts Robert could not succeed in releas- 
ing himself before there was a second knock outside, and 
to his horror the door was pushed gently open. 

‘ f Florence ! ” 

Oh, that bitter, despairing cry of shame, of terror, of 
agony ! It burst forth from the lips of the unhappy man 
with a wild, unnatural vehemence. His wife had sus- 
pected him, followed him — overtaken him ! Oh, that 
unearthly cry ! It even aroused Rachel. She turned her 
great, flashing eyes from Robert’s face and looked towards 
the door. Florence Moreland and Philip Maitland ! 
What brush of subtlest artist shall depict the overcharged 
currents of emotion which interlaced across the little 
room ? What pen shall recount the tale those faces 
told ? Look at the noble, high-souled wife, as the awful 
spectacle meets her eye. Her husband, her passionately 
loved and undoubted Robert wrapped in the embrace of a 
highly-dressed, madly-beautiful woman ! Her eyes burned 
and looked away, and looked and burned again. She must 
believe her senses. It had been his voice : it was his 
face. Yet how? Sweet, strong and true herself, and 
loving with a blind devotion, she had found nothing but 
sweetness, strength, and truth in the man of her choice. 
How, then, could this picture be real ? God ! what a strife 
was there ! With what despairing energy did the habit of 
wifely love and trust battle with the scene before her in 


A WOMAN'S LOVE. 


243 


its endeavors to explain it and leave the man unsoiled. 
Madly it fought — but in vain. Yet not all in vain, for Flor- 
ence did perceive the true significance of the horrid picture. 
Her husband’s countenance, his visible dissent from 
Rachel’s mood, the long days and nights of agony and 
suspense which they had both known, her unshakable 
confidence in the true discernment of her own love, in the 
assurance that such devotion as hers could not have at- 
tached itself to an object wholly unworthy, saved her 
from a rash overleaping of the man’s offence, and inter- 
preted to her its exact character. She divined aright the 
meaning of the whole sad drama from beginning to end. 
Her misery was unspeakable, yet not more intense than 
the truth evoked. The shock to her deep and' unsuspect- 
ing nature was terrific. She staggered weakly against her 
brother and a dark dizziness obscured her vision. 

Denied that intuitive keenness of vision which is the 
portion only of perfect love, Philip Maitland did not per- 
ceive aright the perspective of the revolting canvas of which 
he was so unexpected a spectator. He saw only a scene 
of inexplicable disloyalty and loathsome disgrace. He 
saw the husband of his loved sister clandestinely in the 
embrace of a fallen woman. Hard as it was for him to 
realize that this horror-struck man was the friend of his 
life, the evidence was too strong, and a feeling of manly 
indignation and disgust rose up within his unsoiled breast. 

All these reflections had occupied but a moment’s time, 
and during its passage Rachel continued to cling wildly 
to Robert’s neck. Still retaining her position, she now 
spoke. * 

“ Get out of here ! ” she shrieked, as Philip wisely closed 
the door against any curious new-comers. “What busi- 
ness have you here ? Yes, stare away, with your pretty, 
thieving eyes, mine are as handsome as yours ! Oh, pink 
and white, where is your pink now ? What makes you so 
pale ? So you suspected he had a first, did you ? Ah, he 
has, though, and she is me, me ! Which of us does he 
really love ? Ask him. Do men love those they keep for 


244 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


show on the avenues, or those they creep off to when 
they want comfort and love ? Yes, yes, I’m his first : 
you’re his second. Take your jealous eyes off of me, if 
you don’t like to see how pretty I am, and how well I’m 
dressed. Where do I get the money from ? Ask him — 
ask your husband. He’s got plenty for two. He’s 
enough for the one he shows and for the one he loves. 
Oh, my head, my head ! Get away, go away, go away, 
or I’ll call the police ! Go away, I say ! Leave us alone 
to our love ! ” 

These last outcries were occasioned by the approach 
of Florence Moreland, who had recovered herself by this 
time and, having crossed the room to where her husband 
sat encircled by Rachel’s arms, was about to address him. 
Before she spoke, however, she laid her hand upon his 
shoulder. Rachel, with jealous petulance, angrily threw 
it off. In so doing she perforce relinquished her grasp 
upon Robert’s neck and he released himself. Both rose 
to their feet. The husband, the wife, and the harlot stood 
confronting each other. 

‘‘Robert,” said Florence calmly, though her lip quivered 
with the strength of her emotions and her face was as 
white and cold as marble,. “ Robert, I see it all. Look at 
me, my husband.” 

The miserable man slowly raised his coward eyes. 

“I see it all,” Florence continued. “Our coming here 
was all an accident. It was merely the fulfilment of Phil’s 
promise to take me with him some night. I had no sus- 
picions : I understand fully the reason of your being here. 
Look at me, my husband, and tell me what you see in my 
eyes. ” 

“ I was not here for sin ! ” groaned Robert. 

“I understand it all,” repeated Florence. “Do not 
take your eyes from me.” 

“Leave me, leave me!” groaned Robert afresh. 
“ Don’t soil your lips by speaking to me ! Go ! Go, and 
hate me, despise me ! Oh, leave me, leave me ! ” 

“Yes, go ! ” repeated Rachel, “ Can’t you see he don’t 


A WOMAN'S LOVE. 


245 


want you here? You’re for show : I’m for love. Let me 
comfort him alone. Go ! This is my house. Get out ! ” 

“Hush, woman!” commanded Florence. “Robert, 
look at me.” 

“ He’d rather look at me ! ” screamed Rachel. 

“Look at me, Robert,” continued Florence. 

Again the shame-held eyes were lifted. 

“Don’t talk to me, don’t, don’t!” he cried. “Hate 
me, renounce me ! Oh, do not look at me like that ! Say 
you loathe me and go ! ” 

“I tell you go ! ” again interrupted Rachel. “ Go, be- 
fore I kill you ? I tell you my head is queer and I don’t 
know what I may do. Get out ! Go ! ” 

“Be quiet,” again ordered Florence, superhumanly 
calm, with every nerve tense. “Robert, my Robert, 
why will you not look at me ? Tell me what you see in 
my face. Tell me, my husband.” 

“Don’t call me that ! It kills me with shame ! Oh, 
if you love me, tell me you hate me — spurn me ! ” 

“ She does hate you ! ” exclaimed Rachel, eagerly and 
maliciously. “Can’t you see she does? That’s what 
makes her so quiet. Why don’t you make her leave you? 
Do you hear me ? Get out of my house ! Oh, my head ! 
There, take that ! ” 

As Rachel finished speaking, she leaned over as she 
stood, and scornfully spit into Florence’s marble face. 
Robert Moreland was transformed in a twinkling. 

“ Stop ! ” he cried. “You shall not ! ” 

“How can you talk so to one you love? ” demanded 
Rachel. “ Oh, my head is whirling like mad ! I will do 
it. There ! ” 

The insulting act was no sooner repeated than Robert 
leaped upon her, and wrapping his strong- right arm about 
her waist, with his left hand stopped her mouth. 

“You sha’n’t ! ” he muttered. 

“Robert, leave her alone,” said Florence. “You have 
no right to touch her. If she finds comfort or satisfaction 
in it, I wish her to do it.” 


246 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Robert Moreland’s grasp loosened as if he had been 
stricken with paralysis. “You have no right to touch 
her.” His wife’s words were like an instantaneous poison. 
His whole manhood drooped beneath their touch. 

“ Oh, you nasty thing! ” screamed Rachel. “I’ll spit 
in yours. Oh, you dirty rake ! ” 

So saying the angry woman fulfilled her threat. Robert 
offered no remonstrance. Florence seemed about to pro- 
test, when, recollecting herself, she addressed her husband 
again instead. 

“ Robert, you did not tell me. What do you see in my 
face ? ” 

“Oh, I want to see hate, hate!” cried the miserable 
man. “ I want to see hate — but I see love ! ” 

“My Robert, you see aright : let me prove it to you.” 

Florence Moreland approached her husband, deliber- 
ately put her arms about his neck and kissed him. 

“You sha’n’t !” shrieked Rachel. “You sha’n’t do that 
in my house ! Oh, my head is going to twist off and 
burst ! But I say you sha’n’t ! I'll tear your eyes out ! 
I’ll kill you ! ” 

The poor creature afforded frightful evidence of the 
truth of her words, for, like an infuriated wild-cat she flew 
upon the woman who had molested her in her lair, madly 
clenching her cheeks in her long fingers, and shrieking 
aloud : “You sha’n’t, you sha’n’t, you sha’n’t ! ” At this 
juncture Philip rushed forward from his stand at the door, 
and with Robert’s assistance succeeded in loosening the 
fierce, claw-like clutch. Wrested from her prey, she stood 
between her captors, staring wildly first at one then at the 
other. On a sudden, as she stood thus quiveringly quiet, 
a passionate energy seemed to take possession of her 
whole being like some evil demon. With an unexpected 
and irresistible twitch, she tore herself loose, and uttering 
a long, triumphant, frenzied shriek, darted towards the 
sole window which pierced the tenement wall. It was 
c’osed. Not pausing to open it, and never for an instant 
intermitting her unearthly cry, she flew recklessly at it, 


A WOMAN'S LOVE. 


247 


like an imprisoned wild beast desperately intent on escape. 
It readily gave way before her impetuous rush, and was 
shivered into a hundred pieces, the sound of its breaking 
mingling with the blood-chilling screams with shocking 
fitness. Before any one of the three spectators of the aw- 
ful tragedy had time fully to realize what was in progress, 
they were left alone — stunned. For a second or two the 
same mad shrieks came in at the shivered sash ; then there 
was a horrid thud in the hard court below — and there was 
silence ! 


248 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

MR. SLACK’S DAY ARRIVES. 

Why linger on the frightful scene? Why stand with the 
police and the coroner over Rachel’s crushed and mangled 
body ? Why follow her to the grave* in which her fevered 
career ended, and in which she was laid at Florence More- 
land’s expense ? Why curiously gloat over the details 
of Robert Moreland’s confession as he again sat in his 
library by his wife’s side, but now with shameful and 
averted eyes? Why picture in all its aching harshness, 
the bitter, burning hours of hidden, heart- withering an- 
guish to which the scene she had witnessed and her hus- 
band’s full revelation gave birth within the breast of the 
noble wife? Rachel Underwood (Florence had known 
her in the Moreland household) ruined, crazed, murdered ; 
the child born in sin, and dying no doubt of neglect and 
privation ; and all this the work of her loved and idolized 
husband ! Every man or woman who has known perfect 
love can guess something of Florence Moreland’s killing 
heartache : let the reluctant pen be relieved of an office 
which the heart and imagination can less painfully per- 
form. 

With what diverse emotions came the unexpected news 
of Rachel’s mad act to employer and employed in the 
office of Jeremiah Hardangle. With Silas Slack there was 
a bound of triumph. For though the little man, in spite 
of his swelling words, would much have preferred the 
backing of a fearless, strong-minded partner in his move 
against his employer, yet, when the affair was brought 
to his ears, he rubbed his hands together, as he realized 
that now the Champion Grinder was in his hands. The 
lawyer, on his part, examined the revolver which he had 


MR. SLACK'S DA Y ARRIVES. 


249 


carried in His pocket from the time of Rachel’s extorting 
visit, made a thorough inspection of his locked closet, 
and spent his time in anxious expectation of a visit from 
those other parties whom Rachel had declared to be in 
possession of his secret. 

Two days thus passed over the heads of Mr. Hardangle 
and his servant. On the third, coming to his office at the 
usual hour, the man of law found his waiting-room locked, 
and no Silas within to open it. Supposing that his em- 
ployee had been taken suddenly sick during the night, he 
made use of his own key and sat down at his desk, quite 
dismissing the subject of Mr. Slack’s absence from his 
mind. He had been ensconced in his legal sanctum but 
little more than an hour, when his man-of-all-work put in 
an unexpected appearance, looking perhaps a trifle nerv- 
ous, but otherwise usually well. He did not pause in 
the waiting-room to remove his outer garments, but with- 
out even the ceremony of announcing his arrival, swag- 
gered into the main office, his hat still upon his head, and 
an air of proprietorship about his whole person. Here he 
threw himself into a seat and raised a pair of impudent 
eyes to those which were peering at him over the lawyer’s 
desk. Such actions were by no means customary on the 
part of the servile Silas, nor were they at all in accord with 
his employer’s sentiments of propriety. 

“ What do you mean by this ? ” demanded the lawyer, 
sternly. 

“I don’t perceive and understand to what you refer by 
‘this,’ ” responded the little man in as cool a voice as he 
could command. 

Mr. Hardangle was angered. 

“ I shall understand by it that you intend to leave,” he 
declared shortly. “Your impudence is not to be borne. 
You understand, I am done with you. I owe you by this 
time some ten dollars. Here it is. Take it and go, and 
don’t let me see your brazen, ungrateful face here again.” 

Mr. Slack, by reason of his cowardly disposition, was 
verily minded to go rather than cross swords with a man 


250 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET, 


of such presence and force of personality. However, he 
screwed up his courage in view of the prize before hin*. 
He also screwed up his face. 

“Mr. Lawyer Hardangle, Esquire, do you know what 
you are ? Lest you don’t, I’ll say and declare it to you. 
You’re a grinder and a rascal ! ” 

With a sudden flash of insight which nothing but the 
habit of a life-time prevented from altering the one fixed 
expression of his hard, dark countenance, the lawyer 
divined the portentous, inner meaning of the fellow’s 
words. Silas — wordy, harmless Silas, — whom he would 
scarcely have credited with enough sense to eat his dinner ; 
this man who had been his daily companion, had been 
Rachel, Underwood’s partner, the sharer with her of his 
guilty secret. How in the name of Heaven had it come 
to pass that he was in possession of it ; why Rachel had 
told him, if she had, or why he had told her, if that were 
the proper order ; or what was the true inwardness of any 
portion of the whole mysterious affair from beginning to 
end, Jeremiah Hardangle could give no guess. Neverthe- 
less it was certain that Rachel had known, and now there 
was little reason to doubt Silas’s knowledge. However, 
he would not cry before he was hurt. 

“Silas Slack, you impudent scoundrel, if you do not 
take this money and go, I’ll call the police ! ” 

Mr. Slack found his courage rather shaky, but somewhat 
stronger now that the battle was fairly on. 

“You call the police ! ” he echoed with as much disdain 
as he could muster. “You appeal to the strong arm of 
the law ! You even tell me to go ! Don’t try your bluff 
on me, Hardangle, it won’t work. It won’t go down, you 
Turner at Law. I’ve stood your ways and your manners 
as long as I’m going to. Oh, you grinder, I’ve got you 
at last ! ” 

Lawyer Hardangle looked intently at the little fellow 
before him a moment, and then said, as if to himself : 

“The little man has gone clean crazy.” 

“ Hardangle, I tell you you can’t bluff me ! ” spluttered 


MR. SLA CRT'S DA Y ARRIVES. 


251 


Mr. Slack. “Did you ever call on Madame Guillon, Hard- 
angle, to get and procure evidence which might some 
day hold him back from prosecuting you ? Did you ever 
hear of such a firm as Shadow and Bags, Hardangle ? or 
of Rachel Underwood, Hardangle? I sent her here, I sent 
her here ! ” 

“You sent her here, did you? ” 

“Yes, I sent her here, did I. I gave her the papers 
which proved your forgery. Ah, you’ve ground me, 
Hardangle, kept me on starvation pay all my days, never 
advanced or elevated me an inch in the eyes of the pro- 
fession. Yes, you’ve ground me ; but I’ve bled you, and 
it’s I who expect to bleed you now ! ” 

Lawyer Hardangle left his seat behind the desk, and 
closed and locked the door into the waiting-room. Lean- 
ing against it facing Mr. Slack, he coolly drew from his 
hip-pocket his gleaming little weapon. Mr. Slack felt his 
heart make a very serious attempt to get out at his throat. 

“Slack,” said the lawyer, “you don’t like the look of 
this little fellow, do you ? I shouldn’t think you would, 
knowing who holds it. For the present, however, all I 
say is : Have a care. You spoke of papers and a forgery. 
That is absurd. There was no forgery : how can there be 
any papers ? ” 

“ How ? ” repeated Mr. Slack, keeping his eyes sharply 
fixed upon the revolver. “How ? Did you ever, in this 
office, write the name of one of your kinsmen over and 
over again on a piece of paper? Did any such paper get 
covered up beneath the pages of a certain law-book ? Did 
anyone ever discover that hidden paper? Could that 
finder and discoverer have been I ? Could any one of 
these things be possible, Hardangle ? ” 

So far the mystery was explained. Silas, in the dis- 
charge of his duties, had come upon one of the practice- 
sheets used in perfecting the forgery, and Rachel Under- 
wood had been acquainted with its contents. But why 
had it been exhibited to her ? Was this the starting-point 
of her suspicions, or had she already revealed her dark 


252 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


knowledge to Slack ? Had the paper been sufficient to 
arouse his suspicions, knowing,- as he did, that the name 
upon it appeared in the will ? Mr. Hardangle could frame 
no satisfactory replies. He would learn what he could 
from the little man before him. 

“Silas,” he said, speaking in a low and confidential 
tone, “it’s no use trying to stave you off any longer. 
You and Miss Underwood between you have been too 
many for me. Of course you expect to sell your dis- 
covery at a good market price : of course I’ve got to give 
you that price. And now, before we agree on terms, 
I want to ask you a favor. I’m free to say that I am un- 
able to unravel the course of events which put you both 
in possession of the knowledge which you have obtained. 
You have nothing to lose by telling me, and I have noth- 
ing to gain, save the satisfaction of my curiosity. I ask 
you now, as man to man, to tell me the inner history of 
the case.” 

Mr. Slack, true to his nature, seeing the lawyer less de- 
fiant, grew more bold and uncompromising. 

“What I know is my business, Hardangle. I did not 
come here to tell any tales. I came to make terms. 
What’s more, I shall not brook or endure further delay.” 

“You little fool ! ” exclaimed the man of law. “ If you 
didn’t make me laugh with your big strut, you’d make me 
mad. Do you see this pistol ? ” 

As Mr. Hardangle spoke, he cocked the revolver and 
pointed it full in the face of Mr. Slack, who instinctively 
shrank lower down in his chair and signified that he did 
see it. 

“From your actions I imagine you do. Now, look 
here, you Silas, before you leave this room (if you leave 
it alive at all) I expect to know all you know about the 
inward history of this affair. Listen to me : I had one 
man put out of the way — you know that. I forged a will 
in my own favor — you know that. In your estimation, 
Slack, am I a desperate man ? ” 

Mr. Slack, squirming uneasily in his chair, as his eyes 


MR. SLA CM 9 S DA V ARRIVES. 


253 

looked squarely into the barrel of the raised revolver, 
thought there could be no reasonable doubt of it. 

“No,” continued the lawyer, “there can be no doubt 
of it. Do you know what a fool you were to come here 
and put yourself in the power of a desperate man who 
stops at nothing ? I think you are beginning to realize it. 
What’s to prevent my murdering you here and now, and 
then trumping up some yarn to the effect that you at- 
tempted to rob me, and I shot you with your own weapon 
in self-defence ? By God ! I’ve a mind to do it ! Then 
I’m free from blackmailers for the rest of my days and 
can live in peace once more. I believe I will. I believe 
that’s my ” 

As he spoke, he moved slowly towards Mr. Slack, until 
the murderous revolver almost touched his forehead. 

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’ll tell all I know!” 
ejaculated the frightened man. “But it ain’t much: I 
was only the junior partner. We swore, but she broke the 
oath. Point the other way, and I’ll squeal ! ” 

The man of law, scarcely able to restrain a smile, low- 
ered his weapon, and Mr. Slack proceeded to give a pretty 
faithful account of the whole matter. When he had made 
an end, the lawyer, seeing that he had indeed told all his 
heart, remarked : 

“Now that you’ve done, I’ve the greatest mind in the 
world to shoot you anyhow. Be quiet ! Don’t make a 
sound, or I’ll finish you as quick as lightning. Yes, you 
were a fool. But it isn’t a nice job to murder too many 
men, and have the explanation of their death and disap- 
pearance on your hands. It isn’t a nice memory, either — 
a dead man’s face. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You 
shall have enough money to live without work, and to 
live much better than you do now, and to get drunk every 
night besides. What do you say ? ” 

“I say I came here to dictate terms,” rather faintly re- 
sponded Mr. Slack. “ Honesty compels me.” 

“And I say that I shall give them, if they’re given at all. 
You are making now, Silas, besides the clothes that I keep 


2 54 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


you in, you are making a dollar for every day in the 
year. I will release you from all work, and give you, in- 
stead, twenty dollars a week for the rest of your mortal 
days. I say I’ll give you that — or I’ll give you this ! ” 

As he spoke, Lawyer Hardangle pulled the trigger of his 
revolver, causing Mr. Slack to jump from his chair like a 
skying rocket, although the hammer had fallen upon an 
empty chamber. 

“I take the terms ! ” cried the palpitating little man. 

“ I thought you would. Do you call them good? ” 

Mr. Slack’s head assented, and, to do him justice, 
though the lawyer’s “spill” was not as ignominious as he 
could have desired, his heart did also. 

“Call here twice a year,” the lawyer went on, “and 
I’ll pay you the money ; but don’t trouble me oftener. 
And don’t make too big a display of your wealth — it 
might be suspicious. If it ever should be — mind yourself ! 
Come to me to-morrow night at my house, and I’ll give 
you your first half-yearly installment. I believe that is 
all.” 

Mr. Slack was glad to believe the same, and in less 
than a minute was on his rejoicing way towards the 
bosom of his family and the wife of his youth. 

That evening the Side Pocket was in all its accustomed 
glory of heat and smell, of oaths and licentious tales, and 
had pocketed its full quota of guests. Among others, the 
red-bearded stranger presented himself, clad in his rusty 
garments, and with his greasy slouch hat drawn well over 
his eyes. As on the former occasion, the stranger gave 
every evidence of being deprived of all ability to hear or 
speak, and again made signs to Shadow to follow him 
from the saloon. This Shadow straightway did, and the 
two, as before, took their way to The Toot. 

“Well, what might it be now, red-beard ?” asked the 
more notorious of the two villains, when they had seated 
themselves in a remote corner of The Toot. “Anybody 
else yer’d like to have me do fur yer ? ” 

“We’ll talk about that later,” responded Joe Collins. 


MR. SLA CRT’S DA Y ARRIVES. 255 

“For the present, perhaps you didn’t know that your 
daughter was dead. ” 

“ What !” exclaimed Shadow, yet in a muffled voice. 
“Dead! Be yer cornin’ here to let on that them there 
other fellers, what Rachel spoke about, is up fur game ? 
Dead ! Speak up, lawyer ! ” 

“Yes, dead. Went mad, threw herself out of her win- 
dow into the court and smashed herself all to bits. A fine 
one, you are ! Why, you might have sat in the Pocket 
till those other parties came with the police and nabbed 
you. A man that follows your sort of business ought to 
keep w T ell abreast of all the news that’s going. Well, 
mind yourself now, and I’ll tell you something that will 
interest you. Said other parties are up for game, and 
they’ve come to me ! ” 

“The deuce yer say ! ” 

“Yes, they’ve come to me; and who do you suppose 
they are ? ” 

“Riddles be blasted ! Come out with yer names ! ” 
“Silas Slack ! ” 

“Ye’re chinnin’ ! ” 

“ The exact truth. Silas Slack.” 

“Is he the hull?” 

“He’s the only one, so far as he knew. Rachel un- 
doubtedly referred to him. ” 

“What did he shoot off?” 

“You know your daughter’s game. He worked the 
same. ” 

“And what did yer make up with him ? ” 

“Twenty dollars a week and no work.” 

“Yer calls him safe at that figger ? ” 

“I have small fears of his throwing up such a job for 
nothing. ” 

“Then what did yer want with me ? ” 

“I wanted to see that you knew Rachel was dead, and 
tell you how the land lay. It’s safest you should know. 
And then, as to little Slack — of course there’s always a 
little danger as long as there’s anybody around that’s in 


256 WHERE THE TIDES MEET 

the secret. I thought I’d let you know about him, and if 
you thought best — why, you’d do what you thought 
best.” 

“Best nuthin’ ! I don’t croak no more, unless I 
has to. That there other fixin’ war enough fur me. But 
I know what I will do : I’ll thrash him. I’ve warned him 
more nor once not to make a certain subject the staple of 
his gab, and now he’s gone and done it.” 

“Have a care, Shadow. You might anger him into 
telling. ” 

“Do yer think yer kin give me pints ? • I tell yer when 
I’m done with his hide, he’ll feel like as if he’d been in 
pickle in the bay for goin’ on a twelve-month. He’s more 
skeered of me than he is of the Devil.” 

“Well, be careful, is all I’ve got to say. One hung: 
two hung.” 

Upon the afternoon following, Mr. Silas Slack was rest- 
ing under his own vine and fig-tree, preparatory to another 
night of conviviality at his favorite saloon. In lieu of 
better accommodations he had thrown a bed-quilt in the 
corner near his wife’s cooking-stove, and was snoozing 
away in perfect tranquillity, comfortably dreaming, no 
doubt, of the lazy rewards of perfect honesty. So pro- 
found was his slumber that a loud knock which sounded 
through his apartments during the course of it failed to 
arouse him. His wife, wearing no altered appearance now 
that she had in very truth become the lady her husband 
had foretold, rose from the darning upon which she was 
engaged, and was about to answer the summons, when 
the door was roughly thrown open and a tall, brawny, 
fierce-looking individual thrust his head inside and de- 
manded whether Silas Slack was within. While the ques- 
tion was yet upon his lips, his eyes caught sight of the 
“Lawyer’s” prostrate form, and without more ceremony 
he stalked into the room. Slamming the door after him 
and crossing where Mr. Slack lay, he rudely seized him 
by the collar of his superabundant coat, and simultane- 
ously jerked him to his feet and to consciousness, 


MR. SLACK'S DA Y ARRIVES. 


2 57 

“Oh, ah, indeed, of course ! " stammered the terrified 
sleeper. “Well, well, ah ! — Shadow. Glad to see you. 
Pleasant joke ; but rather startling. Honesty compels me 
— exceedingly startling. " 

“I’m thinkin' yer'II find it summat that way afore I'm 
done with yer," announced Shadow, reassuringly. “ If I 
remembers correct, I’ve warned yer more nor once not to 
make a certain subject the staple of yer gab. Ain't I ? ” 

“Yes, yes, of course, without doubt," again sputtered 
Mr. Slack, trembling in every nerve. “Your memory 
serves you aright. I hope there has nothing happened or 
transpired. ” 

“Yer better hope as nuthin' ain't a-goin’ to happen 
now, yer sneakin' little hound ! Yer knows very well 
what’s happened. Yer knows as well as I what yer’ve 
gone and done. Yer’ve blabbed about that there matter 
in spite of what I told yer. I suppose yer thought I 
wouldn't hear on it, and that I wouldn't dare to tech yer if 
I did. Well, yer’ll find consider'ble different." 

Shadow’s menacing words and manner as he spoke thus, 
holding his little victim facing him, while they caused 
Mr. Slack to turn white with terror, and fairly stupefied the 
dull Paulina, served to arouse also the childish dread of 
“the Diverter," who forthwith began to howl most dis- 
mally. 

“Hush that kid’s bawl, yer!" cried Shadow, address- 
ing the wife and mother. “Put her in that room, d’yer 
hear ? " 

“Oblige the gentleman, Paulina," put in Mr. Slack, his 
quivering voice playing traitor to his attempted tone of 
composure, “oblige the gentleman, of course. Put the 
child in the bedroom. Do as he directs." 

“Never mind yer obligin'," observed Shadow. “It 
won't save yer hide. Yes, it’s yer hide I'm after, and it's 
yer hide I’ll have ! " 

The powerful rogue here drew from under his coat a 
stout whipstock and flourished i\ vengefully before Mr, 
Slack’s dancing eye§, 

V 


258 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“You don’t mean — you can’t mean — it’s impossible! 
You can’t intend ” 

“ Yer’ll see whether I kin or not. Oh, yer’ve come yer 
gabbin’ act long enough. Yer allers war too glib fur yer 
own good. Kids like yer ought’er be seen and not heard 
so infernally much. I’ll give yer one lesson as yer won’t 
forgit afore to-morrow, leastwise.” 

Poor little Mr. Slack was trembling like a frightened 
hare. 

“ Hold on, Shadow!” he pleaded. “I take it back — 
I repent completely. Hold on — a minute of time ! We’ve 
always been friends. Hold on ! We’ll make terms. I’ve 
got cash. I was imprudent — I realize it fully. Terms — 
Cash !” 

Mr. Slack’s terrified deprecations were of no avail. 
Even while he yet spoke the remorseless villain, still hold- 
ing the collar in his left hand, sat quietly down in the 
chair beside him, bent the little fellow over his left knee, 
as a father his child, and pressing his right knee tightly 
against him held him in position. Then his powerful 
right hand seized the whipstock and raised it in the air. 
Mr. Slack seeing it about to fall veritably seemed to shrink 
away into a still smaller compass within his plethoric gar- 
ments, and again called out for terms and mercy. All to 
no purpose. The pitiless whip rose and fell in quick and 
vehement succession. Mr. Slack writhed and squirmed 
in vain, and, to make his discomfiture complete, while his 
castigation was in progress, certain of his numerous neigh- 
bors, attracted by his outcries, poked their heads in at the 
door. 

“ Gude ! ” screamed Mrs. Tafferty in rare glee. “Will 
yez hear that ! Gude enough for him. Make him talk as 
he niver talked afore. Give it till him till he’s clane 
sphoke out, and thin we may have a minute’s pace. Ach ! 
ye little argufy er, yer a-argufyin’ now if yez niver did 
afore. Lay it on, gint, kape it oop ! ” 

“Gee whiz !” exclaimed a small brother of the O’Brien 

brat “ This here beats Fort o’July all holler ! Gosh ! but 


MR. SLACK'S DAY ARRIVES. 


2 59 


you’m a regular Roming candle. Great horn-spoons, how 
you kin yell! You spits it out like a sky-rocket. My 
guy ! but you’d make a good fire-alarm wid practice.” 

A third spectator was about offering some observation 
on the likelihood of their stuck-up little neighbor being 
divided into apartments for certain at last, when Shadow, 
having applied the rod to his complete satisfaction, made 
a rush at the door and all hands precipitately withdrew. 

“Now !” he said, returning to Mr. Slack, who, with an 
agonized expression of countenance, was utilizing both 
hands in preventing his garments from irritating the sting- 
ing wales beneath them. “Now, I’ve taught yer a lesson 
as yer can’t possibly furgit fur some time — not till yer does 
sets easier, leastwise. But afore I goes, I wants to say a 
few words to yer fur yer own good. Yer knows where 
yer cash is cornin’ from. I don’t mean by this little 
diwersion we’ve been enjoyin’ that yer ain’t to git none 
from that same place. I’d ruthor yer would nor not. Bleed 
him all yer kin. What I do mean is that yer’ve got to 
mind how yer talks too free when ye’re sober and when 
ye’re drunk. And I means if yer ever should be such a 
fool as to take it into yer head to blab, it ain’t likely as yer 
could prove what yer knows, and when I war let off, I’d 
hunt yer out if yer war in yer last hole, and I’d croak yer 
as dead as a dog. D’yer hear, Lawyer ? ” 

Mr. Slack, though considerably distracted by his late 
flagellation, heard very distinctly and so admitted. 

“Then I’ll chuck yer a good-day. And I’ll leave this 
here little gad with yer to freshen yer memory.” 

Bringing his visit to a forcible close, by hurling the 
whipstock with no pleasant impact against his victim’s 
legs, Shadow took his departure. No sooner had his re- 
treating footsteps died away down the rickety stairs, than 
Mr. Slack’s manner underwent a visible change. Forget- 
ting, for the moment, his physical pains in his acute men- 
tal distress at having been made such a ridiculous spec- 
tacle in the eyes of his better half, he felt it incumbent 
upon him to re-establish her husband and lord in his lost 


26 o 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


prestige. Moreover, his hot anger being utterly impo- 
tent to vent itself upon its rightful prey, in full accord with 
his nature, sought an outlet upon the unoffending person 
of his spouse. 

“Paulina!” he cried, “you great awkward blunder- 
buss, why didn’t you call the police ? Why didn’t you 
interfere with that villain, you dumb, gawky lunk-head ! 
Are you the woman I’ve honored with my name? Are 
you the female upon whom I have bestowed my wealth, 
and lately raised to ladyhood ? Are you ? I say you’re 
a perverse blockhead, and I’ll teach you to have a little 
manners about you ! I’ll let you know who’s your hus- 
band ! ” 

As he spoke, Mr. Slack valorously clutched Shadow’s 
cudgel, and rushing upon his wife, bestowed upon her in 
addition to the favors already mentioned, sundry lusty 
blows about the hands, arms, and head. When his spleen 
had cooled and he considered himself again safely estab- 
lished in her proper regard, he followed Shadow’s example 
by hurling the whipstock savagely at his wife’s head. 
These lovely demonstrations ended, he threw himself face 
downwards in his warm corner, and as the blue ridges 
that traversed his person like ribs on a wash-board, gave 
forth each one its particular quota of pain, he groaned and 
lamented dismally. Not finding it convenient to visit 
Lawyer Hardangle that evening, and by no means agree- 
able to assume a sitting posture, he retained his chosen 
attitude until bedtime, and then, taking a strong draught, 
crept into bed. Mr. Slack’s day had arrived. 


MURDER WILL OUT. 


261 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MURDER WILL OUT. 

“ Well, Moll, my girl ! ” exclaimed Josey Applegate as 
that strong-headed and good-hearted female walked into 
his apartments upon the evening of the day whose dawn 
found Mr. Silas Slack still face-downward on his couch, 
“ I’m glad to see you. Doll and me was just starting for 
The People’s Hall. That there Maitland fellow is a kind 
of second John the Baptist. I was saying to Doll just be- 
fore you came in, what a good thing it would be if he 
could get a whack at that little Slack chap. Maybe then 
he’d come and pay up.” 

‘ ‘ Pay up ! ” repeated Molly disdainfully. * ‘ You couldn’t 
touch him with fifty Baptizers. There may be some hope 
of salvation for the regular out-and-outers, but for mean, 
sneaking little hypocrites like him, there’s no hope in this 
world or the next. I’ve heard a good deal about Mr. 
Philip’s Hall and we’ll all go together.” 

The little party was soon on its way. Arrived at the 
Hall, they found assembled a motley gathering of per- 
haps two hundred people, whose numbers and the won- 
derful stillness which reigned, bespoke the deep and wide- 
spread interest which Philip’s hard winter’s work had 
awakened. Men and women deep sunk in the foul quag- 
mires of a great city, had been aroused from bestiality 
to the realization that there was something within them 
higher than the poor brutes of the street ; that death fol- 
lowed life with grim certainty, and that after the grave 
came another life. In a word, beings conscious only of 
bodies had suddenly come into the possession of souls. 
It was a sight to make one pause and consider. 


262 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


Josey and his two ladies having arrived late a hymn was 
just finishing as they entered, and as they were ushered 
to their seats, Philip Maitland, with a countenance evin- 
cing extreme weariness and solicitude, rose to speak. 
Laborious and unsparing as his work had been, it was not 
wholly his philanthropic yearnings and unremitting zeal 
which rendered his face so white and anxious. The ter- 
rific scene in Rachel Underwood’s apartments which he 
had been called upon to witness, together with all its at- 
tendant horrors, had given his nature a severe shock. 
With a significance, therefore, which his auditors little 
guessed, he announced as his theme the words: “Be 
sure your sin will find you out.” It is not the purpose of 
this narrative to enter into the details of the urgent dis- 
course which followed. It concerns itself only to set forth 
that there is something in the Great Love when portrayed 
by its reflection in the human, that has power to melt and 
to mould the hardest heart ; that, with the late awful scene 
vividly before his mental vision, and with a potency born 
only of a spirit on fire with love and devotion, and refined 
by a life of unswerving self-immolation, the speaker for 
half-an-hour’s time swayed his audience to his will ; and 
that, when his pricking words had died away, at least a 
quarter of his strange hearers responded to the invitation 
extended to all those who desired to talk with him more 
privately, to step forward near the platform. 

“If that’s all the truth,” said Molly, who had been 
deeply impressed, “I’m going up, too,” 

It was quite a shock to Molly’s rather self-righteous dis- 
position to find herself in the close society of dirty 
and unkempt men and women whom Philip’s tireless 
endeavors had dragged from the tenements and low 
groggeries of the slums. She would have preferred a religion 
a little less democratic in its tendencies. But when she 
discovered to her great astonishment that the occupant 
of the seat directly before her was no other than the man 
upon whom her suspicions so strongly rested in the 
matter of her cat’s disappearance, it was almost more 


MURDER WILL OUT. 


263 

than she could endure. However, the impression upon 
her mind was too profound to be thus dispelled, and she 
gave Philip strict heed while he spoke tenderly to the 
poor creatures before him, answering their crude inquiries 
with patient sympathy, and infusing hope and purpose 
into darkened and drifting souls. At length the individual 
who had fallen under Molly’s suspicions spoke out in his 
turn. 

“Reverend,” he said, “I’ve allers been a perty rum 
one, and I ain’t stopped short at nothin’ whatsomever. 
I’ve been a reg’lar down-easter and out-and-outer. Been 
a pickpocket and a sneak-thief by turns. But if what 
you’ve been a spoutin’s the real thing, I go in for it. Now, 
look here. That’s Bumpo’s. Bumpo’s my trick monkey. 
I hooked that there gew-gaw off of a feller, and Bumpo’s 
wore it ever since round his neck. But look here : I’m 
going to let you have the say about it to show as I means 
biz and go in for this thing. That’s the only bit I’ve got 
of all I ever stole.” (Molly twisted uneasily round in her 
seat.) “Except, which sounds kind o’ queer, a old gray 
cat. I’ve trained her into a good actin’ cat along of 
Bumpo, and she’s worth dollars to me ; but I know where 
she belongs, and to-morrow I’m going’ to trot her back. 
Now, you kin see as I means biz.” 

When the little after-gathering broke up, Philip and 
Molly made a simultaneous advance upon the monkey- 
trainer ; but the housekeeper owing to superiority of 
position and to the fact that the man immediately recog- 
nized her as the rightful owner of his illicit feline posses- 
sion, first claimed his attention. 

“I’d have had you arrested and sent up if I could have 
found you before,” Molly began, “but now, seeing 
we’re both in the same boat, and you’re sorry for having 
done it and were going to bring her back, you’ll get off 
without your real deserts. But tell me quick : how is 
Mary — the cat, I mean ? ” 

“She’s just the same as ever,” replied the man, “only 
she’s a power more knowin. 


564 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“And she’s got all her fur on, and you haven’t banged 
her round and broke her legs, nor cut her ears ? ” 

“I did snip a piece out of each ear,” confessed the 
purloin er. 

“ What ! ” cried Molly. “Snipped her ears ! Cut a piece 
out of each of Mary’s ears in cold blood ! And you trying 
to make a Christian out of yourself ! You’re a cruel, un- 
feeling wretch ! I’ll have you arrested by the Cruelty 
Society. For shame ! But there — I forgot. We’re in the 
same boat : you took me so sudden-like. I suppose I 
ought to forgive you. Anyway I won’t have you taken 
up, after all. We must go and get Mary right off. Were 
you going to speak to him, Mr. Maitland ? ” 

“I was going to ask a few questions,” rejoined Philip. 
“So this is the woman whose cat you stole ? ” 

“She’s the very one, Reverend.” 

“ Well, that is a queer coincidence ! But what I wanted 
to talk about a little was that button which you say your 
monkey wears around his neck. Would you mind telling 
me where you got it ? It ought to be returned to its 
rightful owner as well as the cat. ” 

“Where did I light onto that there, Reverend? I’ll tell 
you just the spot. I was a-comin’ by a saloon what lets 
on to be the Side Pocket, and, as I was goin’ along I 
heerd a pretty tall racket brewin’ inside, so I just peeped 
into the winder to have a look at the fun. Well, I see a 
a little chap up in a chair a spoutin’ away like a fool, 
and I see him take this here gew-gaw outen his pocket 
and hold it up to be gaped at. So, bein’ a perty good 
hand at such little games, I just waits around till he comes 
out half-seas-over, and I goes up to him and I lifts up his 
pocket and I snibbies onto his little ornyment. That’s 
the how, Reverend.” 

Philip Maitland was not unacquainted with the locality 
of the Side Pocket. 

“And could you go to the Pocket with me and point 
out the little man if he was there ? ” 

“ I allow I could, Reverend. But the reason I guv it 


MURDER WILL OUT. 


265 

to you to have the say about instead of tryin’ to git it 
back to that same little chap, was because I didn’t reckon 
as it was his in the start. Such gay things ain’t just in 
such a feller’s line. But just as you say, Reverend. ” 

“I think we had better go. Where do you live ? ” 

“ I hangs out five blocks bey ant the Pocket, and then 
you turns up one block. ” 

“ Then we’ll step round to the saloon to-night, if you’re 
willing. And Molly, if you want to get your cat, you 
can accompany us and we’ll walk on to his lodgings 
afterwards. Are those your friends waiting for you at 
the door ? ” 

Mrs. Humstone, who had listened to the foregoing 
conversation with an ever-deepening interest, and with a 
most unpleasant sensation of complicity in some burglary 
which was about to be ferreted out and exposed (for she 
had immediately recognized the jewelled button as the 
one which the little monkey had displayed to her on 
Lawyer Hardangle’s window-sill, and as the mate to the 
pin which Dolly at that moment was wearing in her neck), 
Mrs. Humstone answered in the affirmative. A few 
minutes later her mutual acquaintances had been made 
known to each other, and the whole party were on their 
way towards the Pocket, Philip and the young criminal 
taking the lead. On the way Philip inquired his compan- 
ion’s name. 

“Well, Reverend,” he replied, “if you had a-asked 
me two hours ago, I’d have told you William Otway ; 
but now as I means biz and .go in fur the thing, it’s 
William Underwood.” 

“Underwood!” exclaimed Philip. “Did you ever 
have a sister Rachel ? ” 

“Now that’s down queer ! That there’s the third time 
somebody’s been at me about my sister. Yes, Reverend. 
Seein’ I’m goin’ in, I say I did have a sister what went by 
that name. But I hain’t been home in a dooced long 
time and I don’t know whether I’ve got her yet or not. 
Did you know her, Reverend ? ” 


266 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Yes. I knew her,” answered Philip. “She used to 
work for a friend of mine. No, Mr. Underwood, you 
have not got her now. I saw a notice of her death in 
the paper the other day. ” 

William Underwood evinced no great emotion at this 
announcement : Philip had not expected he would. His 
life had not been one to foster sentiment. However, his 
reply did him some credit. 

“ Rach were a perty lookin’ gal,” he said. “ But I took 
bad early and ain’t seen her in years. So she’s done, hey ? 
Well, I wouldn't a-minded her knowin’ that I was goin" 
in fur this thing, afore she went. ” 

The Side Pocket was removed from the Hall by some- 
thing less than a mile. In the course of fifteen minutes 
Philip and William Underwood came to a stand in front 
of its screen-protected doors. Bidding Josey and his two 
ladies walk slowly on in the direction of his guide’s lodg- 
ings, Philip entered the saloon, having first cautioned his 
companion to make no sign of their mission there. The 
pickpocket looked unconcernedly about him, and then 
whispered : 

“That there’s the chap standin’ over there leanin’ on 
the bar. Why don’t he set down like the rest of ’em ? ” 

Philip turned his eyes in the direction indicated, and to 
his astonishment they rested on the well-known features 
of Mr. Silas Slack. 

“ That little fellow ? ” he inquired again, to be sure there 
was no mistake. 

“That same, Reverend. I told you he wasn’t no chap 
fur such gay things. He was a-standin’ crackin’ it off 
in a chippy’s voice, and when he’d got good and done and 
put out for home, I worked him for a sucker.” 

The missionary, having accomplished all he desired for 
the present, led the way out of the saloon, just as Mr. Slack, 
who had recognized both parties, was approaching to speak 
with them. Outside the door, William Underwood in- 
quired : 

“I thought you was a-goin’ to give it to him, Reverend. 


MURDER WILL OUT. 


267 

You didn’t want him to know we was lookin’ his way. 
Is there any game about it, Reverend ? Did you ever see 
Bumpo’s scarf-pin afore ? ” 

‘ £ I think I have, ” replied Philip. ‘ ‘ If I am not mistaken 
it belonged to a friend of mine. I shall have the matter 
looked into. Your honesty in giving it up may lead to 
important results. Let us hurry and overtake our friends. ” 

The three advance members of the party were soon 
overtaken ; but Philip, instead of accompanying them 
to William Underwood’s lodgings, excused himself and 
bidding them good-night, took his leave. He had no 
sooner gone than Molly took her place for the remainder 
of the walk by the side of the man who had snipped 
Mary’s ears, Josey and Dolly following them. 

“What happened in the saloon? ” she asked abruptly. 

“That there ain’t no such a question as I oughter an- 
swer,” replied William Underwood. 

“ Did you find the man you robbed it from ? ” persisted 
Molly. 

“ Perhaps as we did and perhaps as we didn’t.” 

“Then I know you did. What is going to be done 
about it ? Did Mr. Maitland give up the button ?” 

“You better ask him, I’m thinkin’.” 

“I know he didn’t. Did he say he’d ever seen it be- 
fore ? ” 

“ I don’t recollect as he allowed to have seen it behind.” 

“Why didn’t he want you to tell ? ” 

“That there ain’t a proper question for one as is goin’ 
in.” 

Mrs. Humstone felt the rebuke, and by the time she had 
acknowledged it their destination had been reached. When 
a light was made, Mary and Bumpo were discovered 
snuggled closely together on a piece of old carpet in one 
corner of the room. 

The pickpocket aroused his pets and removed from 
Mary’s neck the collar by which she was chained to the 
wall, and restored the old gray to the arms of her rightful 
possessor. The rescued pussy, as Molly afterwards stoutly 


268 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


affirmed, purred a distinct thanksgiving and rolled up her 
great green eyes suffused with tears. Mrs. Humstone’s 
joy would have been complete had it not been for the 
snipped ears. 

“You poor dear ! ” she exclaimed. “Did he cut them 
and pay no attention to your cries and spoil your looks ? 
It was a wicked shame ! But then, Mary-lady, you’re 
getting on in years now and your marrying days are about 
over ; so it won’t mar your prospects — that’s one comfort. 
I forgive you, young man, seeing we are both in the same 
boat, and I suppose I thank you for giving it away that 
you had her. Come, Josey and Dolly.” 

The grocer and his wife said good-night and Molly led 
the way out of the house. Being the first to reach the 
sidewalk, she faced about while her companions made their 
somewhat slower way out of the hall and down the four 
steps to the pavement. As she did so what should she see 
gleaming into her eyes in the light of the flickering gas, 
but Dolly’s pin. 

“What on earth did you loosen your cloak for and 
give that fellow a chance to see it ! ” she cried with a vehe- 
mence which quite startled her inoffensive sister. 

“Why, what ! ” cried Dolly quite aghast. “Was there 
any danger? I got too warm walking. Have I done 
wrong ? What is it, Molly ? ” 

“There, there, now,” interposed Josey in a soothing 
tone. “Don’t you go and get nervy and excited, old 
girl. It’s only her notion about your pin having once 
been stole.” 

“No, it ain’t,” stoutly persisted Molly. “There was 
a reason. I ought to have thought. Still, I don’t know 
as there was any helping what I’ve always said was sure 
to come. I suppose you’d have had to tell by good right 
any way. But wait till we get home and I’ll tell you all 
about how I’ve seen the mate of it this very night.” 

Meanwhile Philip Maitland had returned to the Hall 
and thrown himself down in his office-chair to think. He 
had recognized Bumpo’s scarf-pin as one of the pair of 


MURDER WILL OUT. 


269 

sleeve-buttons which Reginald Moreland had habitually 
worn since the death of his first wife’s only son, William. 
There had been something almost superstitious in Mr. 
Moreland’s passionate attachment to this last gift to his 
beloved son, and on no account would he leave his home 
without them. Philip, therefore, was very confident that 
they must have formed part of the attire of the doomed 
man upon the fatal night of his disappearance. Here, 
then, was what might prove to be the first link in a chain 
of events to whose final link might be found attached some 
dark villain besides Bags. Detective Sargeant’s theory 
had been shrewd, yet here might be a clue which would 
put quite another aspect upon the whole dark mystery. 
It ought to be investigated without delay. Philip was 
just concluding that his proper course of procedure was 
to lay the whole matter before the murdered man’s son, 
when he was aroused by a knock at the street-door. What 
was his surprise upon opening it to see before him — 
William Underwood. 

“I say, Reverend,” panted that individual, “I ve got a 
pointer. A reg’lar down good one. It’s a great game. 
I say, Reverend, I’ve seen the mate to it — I’ve seen the 
t’other ornyment ! ” 

“What do you mean ? ” exclaimed Philip. 

“Yes, Reverend, I’ve seen nuthin’ more nor less. If 
any two ornyments is mates in this world or the next — I’ve 
seen two gewgaws as is mates this night.” 

“ Go on, man, go on ! ” cried Philip, much excited. 

“That’s just what I’m here fur,” returned William 
Underwood. “You knows that there other one — that 
Applepie woman. What’s her name ? Apple — Apple” 

“Applegate,” prompted Philip. 

“Applegate — that’s the ticket. That there red-faced 
one’s old woman. Well, they all come along to my har- 
bor and the old lady she’d been a-walkin’ too smart for 
one of her size, and had got all het up. Well, she throwed 
open her fixin’s and I didn’t let on a wink but, by thunder 
(excuse me, Reverend : I’m goin’ in just the same), what 


270 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


did my two eyes light onto but the mate to that there 
scarf-pin of Bump’s I guv you this very evenin’ ! Fact, 
Reverend, fact.” 

4 ‘Are you sure you might not have been mistaken ?” 

“ Plumb certain. Never see a pin a smitch like Bump’s 
till I see that there one. It’s a odd figger, Reverend. 
Had it stuck in her neck fur a breast-pin.” 

Philip thanked his informant for his caution in hiding 
his discovery and for his kindness in taking the trouble to 
return to the Hall with it. Then, saying he was very 
desirous of seeing his brother-in-law that night, bade 
William Underwood good-night and started for his sister’s 
home. 

“ God knows how I hate to enter the house ! ” he said to 
himself, as he stepped from the car. “ I don’t feel as if I 
could ever look either of them in the face again. Worse 
than all, I’ve not seen either of them since, at her request, 
I left them on the street that awful night/ Thank God for 
her letter, and that it isn’t quite as bad as I thought at first. 
Yet how unspeakably awful it is ! Why must it have 
been ? It is hideous, hideous ! Poor Robert ! poorer 
Florence ! Well, there must be some first time, and per- 
haps the strange and startling story I have to tell will 
make the meeting a little less awkward. At all events 
the thing must be done and I’ll do it.” 

With these bitter thoughts for his company the reluc- 
tant Philip reached his destination and was admitted by 
the butler. Entering the library unannounced, he found 
Robert and Florence in their accustomed places ; and, had 
he not been conversant with the dark history of the past 
few days he would have observed nothing to arouse his 
suspicions. As it was, the two faces that were turned to- 
wards him as he entered, produced within him a cruel, 
almost overpowering sensation of heart-sickness. Flor- 
ence, woman-like, assumed a forced sprightliness as she 
caught sight of her brother. 

“ Why, Robert,” she exclaimed, “here’s Phil ! ” 

“Yes, here I am,” said Philip, returning his sister’s kiss, 


MURDER WILL OUT. 


271 


though not without noting the extreme effort she put forth 
to hide her painful agitation; “here I am,” he repeated, 
plunging at once into his subject without awaiting a reply 
to his “ How are you, Bob ? ” that he might quiet his own 
unsteady nerves, and temper as much as possible the 
unpleasantness of the situation, “and upon a most aston- 
ishing and perhaps momentous business. See here, Bob : 
did you ever see that before ? I know where the mate to 
it is.” 

“My God!” exclaimed Robert. “ It’s father’s sleeve- 
button ! And you know where the other one is? What 
of them, Phil, what of them ? ” 

This history knows full well all Philip then knew re- 
specting the discoveries that had come to him, and it were 
quite a work of supererogation to set down here the par- 
ticular form in which he told his story. Suffice it to say 
that when he had done, Robert immediately announced 
his decision to place the button with its history and the 
easy method of finding its mate through Molly Hum- 
stone, in the hands of detective Sargeant at headquarters 
early next morning. 

“And Sargeant will recognize it,” Robert continued. 
“ He had a full description of father’s dress that fatal night, 
from mother and me the next morning. About the buttons, 
I’ll tell you, Phil. You know how passionately attached 
to them father was ; how he would never go ten steps 
from home and leave them behind. He loved Will more, 
I think, than he ever loved any one else, and his par- 
tiality for those buttons amounted almost to a mania. 
Well, mother told Sargeant that morning that father had 
taken them with him though he had not worn them. He 
had come home, as you know, later than usual and some- 
what out of sorts, and found dinner waiting his return. 
Hardangle’s note lay on the hall-table, and when he had 
read it he asked that the meal be served immediately as 
he did not wish to fall behind the hour indicated, hav- 
ing never in his life been behindhand at any appoint- 
ment. His toilet not having been made, mother called 


272 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


his attention to the soiled condition of his linen. * The 
collars good enough for Hardangle,’ he replied shortly, 
‘but the cuffs aren’t befitting my Will’s memory.’ With 
that he removed the cuffs and threw them aside, but the 
buttons he slipped into his vest-pocket. Yes, Sargeant 
will recognize them. Of Slack’s coming into possession 
of his, it is, as you say, easy to form a theory. A hole 
in the pocket might do for that. But of the other one — 
that’s the question. However Sargeant can easily learn 
the man’s whereabouts from his sister and then we shall 
find out all that can be discovered.” 

Philip did not prolong his visit, making the lateness of 
the hour his excuse. Robert accompanied him to the 
door. 

“Phil,” he said with great emotion, “I can’t talk about 
it now. Some time, if you haven’t come to despise and 
hate me, I want to.” 

Philip took his friend’s hand in his and said in a broken 
voice : 

“All we like sheep have gone astray.” 

He laid the emphasis upon the first little word, and 
Robert returned to his wife in tears. That night a new 
heart entered Robert Moreland’s breast, and thenceforth 
he chose duty before inclination. The angels set another 
star in Philip’s crown ere he slept, and its radiance seemed 
to shine with cheer into his sister’s soul. For the old 
clock on the stairs struck three before the overwrought 
and repentant Robert had poured forth all his full heart, 
and when his wife gave thanks before she sought repose, 
there was one strain which echoed through it all : 

“And I thank Thee that our love may yet be, if not 
the same, yet even richer than it was before.” 


MRS. APPLEGATE IS NERVY. 


273 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MRS. APPLEGATE IS NERVY. 

The hour of tenon the following morning, saw Joseph 
Applegate and his artless spouse busily at work in their 
little grocery. The husband was systematically disposing 
the contents of a bulky consignment of eatables which 
had just arrived : his helpmeet, having already burnished 
and refilled three kerosene lamps, was lustily applying the 
blacking-brush to the stove which occupied the centre of 
the room. 

“ I wish you’d take that pin to the Hall and give it to 
Mr. Maitland before you do any more,” urged the appre- 
hensive wife. 

“There, there, now, old girl, don’t you be keeping 
yourself thinking about that pin,” rejoined Josey, puffing 
under a load of tomato-cans. “ That pin’s all right It’ll 
do to go any time to-day.” 

“Yes, but Josey,” persisted the anxious Dorothy, “do 
recollect all Molly told us last night. The police may be 
looking us up this minute for anything we know ; and it 
would be so much better to give it up of your own accord, 
than be forced to.” 

“Now, now, Doll, now, now!” returned her partner. 
“There’s precious little danger of their coming here to- 
day. If I hadn’t a mind to give it up, it ain’t at all un- 
likely I’d never hear another word about it. That 
monkey-fellow most probable ain’t spied your pin at all. 
Besides, there ain’t no certainty that he’d feel called upon 
to go and tell about it if he did see it ; though things being 
as they are, I suppose it’s supposable. No, no, they 
won’t come here to-day, old girl, and I must get this 
cargo stowed away right before I leave off, ” 

18 


274 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


‘ ‘ But then they might come, J osey. Those detectives are 
such a creepy, insinuating sort. The first thing you know 
— why, there they are.” 

The words were still upon Dolly’s tongue when the 
street-door opened and an individual quite ordinarily 
dressed (save that the soles of his shoes were unusually 
thick), and, in spite of a very determined expression of 
countenance, looking as if he were about to expend a few 
cents in provisions for the sustenance of the body, entered 
the store. 

“ Good-morning to you, sir,” said Josey. “ What can I 
do for you to-day ? ” 

“Good-morning,” returned the stranger. “Nice day 
for the first of March.” 

“ I suppose it maybe,” returned the proprietor, “but 
to tell the truth I haven’t been outside enough to have a 
right to an opinion. Is there any, thing you’d like to 
have, sir, on the first of March ? ” 

“I’ll have a cigar,” answered the determined-looking 
stranger, “a strong one for a nickel.” 

The cigar was forthcoming, and the stranger imme- 
diately lighted it. 

“I think I’ve never been in here before,” he remarked, 
looking casually all about the place. “ You’re as snug as 
a pair of nippers here, ain’t you ? ” 

“ We think it’s pretty cosy, me and Doll,” responded 
the grocer. 

“Cosy’s the word,” assented the stranger. “You say 
Doll : I don’t see him. Is he your clerk ? ” 

Josey laughed aloud. 

“Doll my clerk ! ” he exclaimed. “ That’s a good one. 
A man must be as mad’s a hare in the present month to 
think my wife’s my clerk — no offence to you, sir. I say, 
Doll, he thought you was my errand boy. You couldn’t 
run very fast, could you ? ” 

“Oh,” said the stranger. “Excuse me, Mr. Apple- 
gate. So that lady’s your wife. That’s it — and very nice 
it is, too. You both put in your share of work here, I see. 
Excellent cigar.” 


MRS. APPLEGATE IS NERVY. 


2 75 


Here he took several full puffs, glancing the while 
with easy indifference towards the grocer’s better-half, 
but none the less directing his eyes more particularly at 
the neck of her dress. 

“ If you like ’em, I’d be glad to sell you another,” sug- 
gested the wily Josey. 

“I do like them and I will take another,” said the 
obliging stranger. 

As he spoke, he thrust his hand into his pantaloons 
pocket in search of the required nickel, and seemingly at 
least, by mistake, drew forth with his change a little 
jeweled sleeve button. 

“Gad!” he exclaimed, evidently quite disturbed by 
what he had done. “I guess I’d better mind my P’s and 
Q’s a little better than that. I wouldn’t just care about 
hauling that little snake out of my pocket in some local- 
ities, least of all near any police station. But of course I 
don’t need mind it here : you’re all so good and friendly. 
There’s a pretty dark story gathers around that little button 
and it wouldn’t be too safe to give the detectives a smell 
of it. Why, what’s the matter, Mr. Applegate ? ” 

“What ! ” exclaimed Josey, his eyes as big as saucers. 
“Are you a flatty? That chap did tell then. And, 
Doll, you were right, after all. There now, old girl, 
don’t take on so and get all excited and nervy. ” 

“ Why this commotion ? ” asked the stranger, who was 
of course none other than detective Sargeant, “why this 
commotion ? ” 

“ Don’t charge him with it ! ” pleaded Dolly vehemently. 
“He was going to take it as soon as he finished putting 
things to their places. Indeed he was, sir. He didn’t 
know anything about it till last night. I’ve lived with 
him forty years, and I never knew him to do a single trick 
yet. ” 

“ What’s the matter, my dear woman ? ” demanded Mr. 
Sargeant. “What was he going to take ? ” 

“ It, it ! — the button ! ” cried Dolly. “Don’t arrest him, 
sir ! He never robbed a penny in his whole life ! ” 


276 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“ Don’t, Doll, don’t,” interposed the grocer. “Nobody’s 
goingto take me up. You know, sir, as well as her you’re 
asking (no offence to you, sir), what she means. You’ve 
heard all about it and how we’ve got the mate to that 
one you’ve got. It’s in my pocket now. I was going to 
to take it to Mr. Maitland in an hour’s time. Here 
it is.” 

“You’re cool enough,” observed the man of many 
devices. “Yes, I know the whole story, and I say you’re 
plenty cool. Perhaps you can explain to me how such 
things as this find their way into a grocer’s. Do they be- 
long to the sweetmeat line and come in prize packages ? ’ 

“Oh, I see, you don’t understand that, do you?” re- 
joined Josey. “ Of course not. Just let me tell you that 
it ain’t no prize package business whatsoever. If you’ll 
listen, I’ll tell you all about my getting that pin which 
once was a sleeve-button.” 

This he did in a truthful, straightforward manner. Even 
before he had finished, a gleam of triumphant intelligence 
overspread the officer’s face. 

“So you used to be a cabby, did you?” he remarked, 
when Josey had assured him that “that was all.” “That’s 
the way of it. I see it now. Yes, yes.” 

“And you believe him ?” ventured Dolly, fearfully. 

“That’s another matter, Mrs. Grocer,” answered the 
detective. 

“Don’t speak that way to her ! ” interrupted Josey with 
unusual severity. “ Her name’s Applegate.” 

“Oh, I beg you won’t make anybody angry on my ac- 
count ! ” pleaded Dolly. “I don’t care how anybody 
calls me.” 

“Well, well, no harm intended,” remarked the repre- 
sentative of justice, quite admiring the grocer’s sturdy 
manhood, which would have been ample proof, had evi- 
dence been needed, of his entire innocence. “Yes, I be- 
lieve him, Mrs. Applegate. And so we’ll talk straight out. I 
presume, sir, you do not know whom that button belonged 
to ? ” 


MRS. APPLEGATE IS NERVY. 


277 


“ If I had, I ain’t the man to have kept it, sir,” returned 
Josey. 

“Well, it belonged to a man who disappeared under 
very strange circumstances,” continued Mr. Sargeant, 
“His name was .Moreland.” 

“Moreland!” cried Josey in supreme astonishment. 
“ What do you say, sir? Not Reginald Moreland ! ” 

“That same, sir. You seem to know him: did you 
ever have dealings with him ? ” 

“I’m pretty certain I did. If I’m not much mistaken, I 
drove him and a lawyer to Water Street in my cab, on the 
very night of his murder. ” 

“As I supposed. And that was the way the button 
came into your hands.” 

“Oh, Josey, Josey, ain’t it terrible ! ” moaned Dolly. 

“So you’re the man that drove them, hey?” continued 
the man from headquarters, evidently little accustomed 
to give great heed to women’s woes. “If I hadn’t found 
out about that murder as I did, you’d have had a call 
from me long before this. But the lawyer gave you a 
good name, and any way I struck on the right clue with- 
out you. Let’s see : you drove them to McAuley’s mis- 
sion — I knew that, and that’s all I’d have discovered if I 
had come.” 

“That’s all I could have told you, sir. Except, to be 
sure, that after I’d put the old hoss to roost for the night, 
as I was coming along home on one side of the street — 
Water Street, I mean — I see them again walking on the 
other side of the way, each with an officer for company.” 

Detective Sargeant was on the point of doing his share 
in that morning’s exclamations, but his years of practice 
prevented him. His former clue, of which he was so con- 
fident, was rapidly vanishing. 

4 ‘ Mrs. Applegate, ” he said, quietly, ‘ ‘ I want you to listen 
while I ask your husband to state that last about the offi- 
cers again. ” 

“Oh, I’d rather not!” demurred Dolly, terrified afresh 
by Mr. Sargeant’s ominous manner. “It wouldn’t be any 


278 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


good to take me to court, sir, cause I wouldn’t swear noth- 
ing that was going to be against Josey.” 

“ If it’s ever going to be anything, it will be in his favor,” 
rejoined Mr. Sargeant. “So just listen while he repeats 
it. Now, sir, will you just say that over -again ? ” 

Josey repeated his former words, his wife listening as if 
he were pronouncing his own irrevocable doom. 

“And now tell me all you can about them,” said the 
detective. 

“I don’t know as I’ve got anything to tell,” returned 
Josey. 

“ How were they as to size ? Did you notice that ? ” 

“Well, I don’t know but what I did. If I remember, 
one was pretty middling tall and the other was consider- 
able shorter.” 

“Of course, of course!” ejaculated Mr. Sargeant. 

“What about them?” inquired the grocer, growing 
interested. 

“Two suits of officer’s clothes about a pair of rogues. 
Also a couple of life-preservers,” blindly responded 
the other. ‘ ‘ Excellent cigar. I forgot to pay for it. 
Good-day. ” 

Detective Sargeant, with grim triumph in his eye, laid 
a nickel on the showcase and left the store, saying within 
himself : 

“Yes, Mr. Lawyer, we fellows do suspect everybody. 
So you were both powerful men and didn’t need an officer ? 
By Wash Walling ! I was fooled for once. You were a 
cool one and your Shadow a cute one. Your daring 
course is run.” 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT. 


2 7 y 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT. 

The soft fingers of the night had closed the drowsy eye- 
lids of another day, and the myriad stars had let down to 
earth their cold, narrow pathways of light. Mr. Slack, 
having returned from a lucrative visit to Lawyer Hard- 
angle’s office, had finished his evening meal and was now 
slowly sipping his final cup of tea. 

“Paulina,” he remarked, at this interesting juncture, 
“shall you ever be able to look me in the face again after 
your reprehensible behavior and disgusting dumbness of 
day before yesterday ? ” 

“Silas surely is quite right,” murmured the wooden and 
emotionless Paulina. 

“ Give over such sapless exhibitions of moon-calfery ! ” 
vehemently vociferated Mr. Slack. “Stop whining there 
like a whipped poodle, and behave yourself like the wife 
of a man — an honest man. Such actions would be fitting 
the wife of the villain who came in here with a whip to 
brow-beat and intimidate a man on one memorable occa- 
sion proven to be brave and valorous. He thought he 
could make a man whimper like a spanked baby, but he 
reckoned without his host. Come, now, female, speak out 
like a decent and reputable person. Do you expect ever 
again to look me squarely in the eye after your disgraceful 
exhibitions of cowardice and inaction ?” 

“Silas surely told her to do the gentleman’s bidding. 
She certainly thought you did not intend her to anger the 
gentleman. ” 

“Gentleman!” cried Mr. Slack. “Do you have the 
effrontery to call him a gentleman to my very face? 


280 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Paulina, you great loot, do you want me to thrust you out 
of my apart ments ? ” 

“ Silas surely said gentleman.” 

“Keep your trap closed before I beat you !” fairly 
shrieked Mr. Silas Slack. “I call that fellow a gentleman ! 
I called him the villain he was, and that to his face. I 
hurled my epithets into his very teeth, and dared him to 
do his worst. Do you add insult to injury? Were you 
not a woman, and naturally entitled therefore to tender 
consideration and respect ; and were it not that my honesty 
compels me to adhere to my foolhardy marriage vows, I 
tell you, you should hump. But, Paulina, listen, and 
give heed. In spite of such an ungrateful return for the 
many favors I have showered upon you, I curb my anger 
and master my inclination to put you into the street. I 
have lately made youa lady, my dear. I have gained the 
goal towards which I have so long been urging the steeds 
of my brain. I heap coals of fire upon your dull and 
stupid head. And now, as I depart, I bestow upon you a 
proof of my continued favor and your achieved ladyship. 
Take it, Paulina : appropriate it freely. It is not be- 
grudged. Good-bye, my dears. Hold your several 
breaths and wonder at your mother’s good fortune.” 

And Mr. Silas Slack with infinite condescension slipped 
a dime down the neck of his wife’s evening-dress, and took 
his departure. His destination was the residence of his 
sister Mag, whither in due season he arrived. Madame 
Guillon was seated at her desk when he entered. 

“ Maggie, my girl,” he cried, as he caught sight of her, 
“how are you ? ” 

“None the better for seeing you ! ” returned the Madame, 
shortly. 

“Why, what is wrong, Maggie, my girl ? ” 

“Here then,” replied Madame Guillon, thrusting a let- 
ter which was lying open on the desk beside her into her 
brother’s hands. “I got that only a little while before 
you came in, in answer to one I sent yesterday.” 

The letter which Mr. Slack proceeded to read was in 


MR. SAR GRANT ON THE SCENT. 


281 


Florence Moreland’s handwriting, and set forth in unmis- 
takable terms that the wife of Robert Moreland would 
hand over to the authorities any further communications 
from Madame Guillon, and immediately institute a prose- 
cution for black-mail. 

“ Highty-tighty ! ” exclaimed Mr. Slack, when he had 
finished. “So, ho! Then we're done in that quarter, 
Maggie.” 

“Yes, we’re done, if nothing worse!” snapped his 
sister. “So you needn’t come here about that More- 
land one any more. He gave up so easy that the child 
hasn’t been needed for proof anyway.” 

“ But you forget and don’t recollect, Mag. You were to 
tap the kid when it became a man, and put on a little 
streak of fat with his hush-money.” 

“None of that, Silas. That won’t do, you scheming 
knave. It was his mother who was to raise him in the 
world. You don’t know she’s dead. Oh, no ! You’d 
tell me that very quick, wouldn’t you ? ” 

“Well, well, Mag, you’re awake yet, I see. But for 
once you’re too smart and keen. The kid is in the same 
good family he’s been in all along, and they will keep and 
nourish him just the same whether they’re paid for it or 
not. We’re all right as far as the kid goes. By the way, 
my girl, how much was your last and latest levy on More- 
land?” 

“Five hundred, Silas. I suppose, being it’s the first of 
the month, you’ve come for your commission.” 

“I guess and surmise I have. But first I would just 
like to know how much you’ve taken out of that chap’s 
hide to pay him for his little game.” 

“You would. Well, I’ll tell you. I reckoned it up after 
I got that letter. In all $2500. But if it hadn’t been for 
that cursed woman, next year I’d have gone #500 better.” 

“ Oh, you Mag ! You are a brick — you’re a whole brick- 
row. Talk about founding a prayer-meeting ! Why, you 
keep a little private hell here that beats all prayer-meet- 
ings hollow. And now, Maggie, while you count up and 


282 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


reckon my little dues on my three cases, I’ll just stretch 
my limbs on this soothing sofa and snooze half-an-hour 
or so.” 

When Mr. Slack arose, the French clock on the mantel 
was striking eight, and the French Madame was hungrily 
devouring a French novel. The little man, having some- 
what overslept, bustled up from his comfortable couch, 
counted over the money which his sister had placed for 
him on the table beside her, and signified his intention of 
departing forthwith in the direction of his favorite saloon. 

“ Yes, Maggie,” he said, as he stood with his hat on his 
head and his hand on the knob, “ you beat all the prayer- 
shops. And remember, when you’re planted I’m to stand 
at the foot and say : ‘The deuce she has ! ’ ” 

Mr. Slack shuffled out through the kitchen and was gone. 
He had accomplished so much of his journey as lay be- 
tween his sister’s home and Chatham Square, when his 
path was crossed by two individuals who had just emerged 
from the vile purlieus of Mulberry Bend. Seeing, Mr. Slack 
recognized the features of detective Sargeant : hearing, he 

caught the words : “Shadow andHardangle may be ” 

Seeing and hearing thus, although he was utterly at a loss 
to imagine what had come to pass that these two names 
should be thus coupled together, he immediately hit upon 
a conclusion and a plan of action. The conclusion was 
that Mr. Sargeant and his colleague were bound for The 
Pocket to secure the person of the dreaded Shadow : the 
plan of action, to proceed at once to the saloon and warn 
Shadow, if he were there, of the near approach of the 
detectives, and then to repair immediately to the lawyer’s 
dwelling and apprise him also of what he had overheard. 
Mr. Slack was prompted to this course by politic con- 
siderations. He realized all too clearly for perfect peace 
of mind, that his own livelihood was probably in peril. 
If the guilty secret was known, his leverage was gone. 
However, even if the suspicions of the authorities were 
aroused, the evidence might be only partially conclusive, 
and the sooner both the guilty parties were warned of 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT, \ 283 

the impending danger, the better for his monetary pros- 
pects. He therefore set out with all possible dispatch 
to put his plan of action into effect. As he had antici- 
pated, the brawny ruffian was seated dully smoking before 
The Pocket fire. Quite pale and exhausted from run- 
ning, Mr. Slack dashed into the saloon and panted into his 
ear : 

“The flatties are after you ! Come with me ! Quick ! ” 

The murderer needed no second warning. With a terrific 
oath he sprang up and followed his little guide in the direc- 
tion of the East River. When South Street was reached, 
Mr. Slack was brought to a sudden stand by a savage tug 
at his coat-collar, administered by the great hand of the 
man he was piloting. 

“ Now yer see here ! ” growled the felon. “ I don’t go 
no furder till I twig where yer’re aimin’ fur. How d’yer 
know the flats war comin ’ ? ” 

“ Don’t hold me, don’t hold me ! ” articulated Mr. Slack 
between his gasps. “There ain’t a moment to lose! 
They’re onto you and the lawyer. I met them on the way 
to The Pocket, and heard them say and declare that you 
and Hardangle were a precious pair. They may be at The 
Pocket this minute. I must take a car and put him on his 
guard. There’s not a second to waste. When they don’t 
find you, it’s more than likely that they’ll hunt up your 
partner. Hide yourself, Shadow, or you’re cooked. 
There : let loose. If all this comes to nothing, remember 
that I warned you out of kindness, and let’s forget the 
past. ” 

Shadow having relaxed his hold, Mr. Slack broke loose 
as he finished speaking, and dashed away for a car. The 
three miles that intervened between him and the lawyer 
seemed to lengthen into five or six before his journey was 
half completed. In reality, the trip was made in very 
good time, and in due season the little man was stand- 
ing upon the lawyer’s door-step. Molly answered his 
importunate summons. 

“Well ? ” she disdainfully demanded. 


284 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


Mr. Slack waited not to offer explanations or to parley 
with the housekeeper. He brushed past her and, quite 
unannounced, burst into the library. The man of law 
looked up startled from his evening paper to behold 
before him the man whose continued presence in the 
world was one of his most fruitful sources of mental dis- 
quietude. 

“The flatties, the flatties!” cried Mr. Slack, speaking 
excitedly and rapidly. “I don’t know for certain, but I 
fear they’re onto your whole secret. I heard them talking 
about you and Shadow ” 

“God!” exclaimed the lawyer, jumping to his feet. 
“ Go on, man ! ” 

“I heard Mr. Sargeant putting your two names together 
less than an hour ago. I could catch no more, but that 
was enough. They’re rummaging in a saloon for Shadow 
now. But they won't find him, because I warned him 
and got him out. I may be mistaken and in error, but I 
fear their next step will be to come here. You must fly or 
hide ! They might come any minute ! ” 

“Curse them ! ” cried the lawyer. “ Damn the hellish 
brood ! Who are they, to lay hands on Jeremiah Hard- 
angle ! Let them come, I say ! They'll find him no gut- 
ter-sot to dodge their clubs. I’ll have the lights put out 
till I’m ready for them. Turn this one out and stay where 
you are.” 

Lawyer Hardangle strode from the room as he spoke and 
hurried down to his housekeeper, turning out the gas in 
the hall on his way. 

“Molly,” he said, “you’ve got my will. In a year’s 
time you’ll be my wife. There’s a mean game on to-night : 
you must do your part. It is this : Pull down all your 
curtains so that a dark-lantern could not throw its beams 
in and discover you from outside. Lock every window 
and all the doors. Then turn out the gas — don’t let a ray 
be visible — and after that make not an unnecessary sound. 
I want them to think there’s not a soul in the house. See 
to this immediately and afterwards keep your chair until 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT. 285 

I come to you. When I return I shall look like another 
man : don't cry out. I have no time for explanations. 
Will you do what I’ve requested? Will you stand by 
your old employer and future husband ? ” 

“I’d be an ungrateful thing if I wouldn’t!” returned 
Molly, with no uncertain sound, though considerably 
agitated by the sudden turn of affairs. “I’ll have it all 
attended to in a jerk, sir.” 

“I knew you would,” said the lawyer. “And now, 
Moll, where’s your night-candle ? ” 

In a twinkling the candle was brought from its shelf 
in the kitchen. Lawyer Hardangle was just ascending 
with it, when a crashing knock at the upper street-door 
struck a horrid chill to his heart, almost causing him to 
drop the candlestick from his. fingers, so unexpected and 
frightful was the shock. He immediately recovered him- 
self, however, and crept slowly up in the darkness to the 
landing. Bang, bang, bang ! Again the thundering 
pounding at the door echoed dismally through the silent 
house. This time it was followed by a loud, gruff voice. 

“Open that door, blast yer ! ” it roared. “I’ll batter 
it in fur yer, if yer don’t ! ” 

It was Shadow. What an inexpressible relief to the 
lawyer, who had confidently expected a few more blows 
to demolish the panelling and reveal the determined feat- 
ures of detective Sargeant and his colleague. Calling 
down to his housekeeper that the man outside was a 
friend, he hastened to the door and opened it. 

“Curse yer!” growled the hunted murderer. “Will 
yer git a man into a hole and then keep him standin’ at 
yer blasted doors till he’s nabbed ! Show a glim, yer 
murderin’ sneak ! ” 

“There’s not a single light in the house by this time,” 
replied the lawyer, as he hurried the desperate felon into 
the hall and bolted the door after him. “The devilish 
hounds will miss their scent if they come before I’m ready 
for them.” 

“If you fly,” here interrupted Mr. Slack, “it’s all up 


286 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


with you. Your flight will be proof against you. Think 
and consider that there may now be no evidence.” 

“I won’t fly a step till I’ve found out ! ” answered the 
lawyer. “ If I fly of course I’m an outcast the rest of my 
life. Do you suppose I didn’t think of that long ago ? 
And now we must act quickly.” 

“A moment of time ! ” cried Mr. Slack. “ I have been 
kind to you to-night. I beg you not to forget it. If you 
are forced and compelled to fly, you will need some one 
about here to look after your affairs — to draw money for 
you (though it would be very dangerous), and to keep 
you informed of the state of affairs here. I have been 
kind : let me be your agent.” 

“Yer little pigeon-livered leech ! ” cried Shadow, enraged 
at the delay. “ I’d squeeze the breath outen yer fur jest 
two cents. Shet yer head about yer cussed dust when 
they’re after a man’s life, or I’ll fix yer yet ! ” 

“ Your pay shall be continued the same as ever,” said 
the man of law, for considerations of policy refraining 
from cursing the man for his untimely cupidity. “But 
my money is so arranged that I shall not need your serv- 
ices even if I am forced to fly. Do you suppose I hadn’t 
laid my account with the impossibility of a felon keep- 
ing a bank-account ? But you shall have your pay in 
return for this warning. So let us have no more about 
that : every moment is precious.” 

“Let me out then, and I will go,” rejoined Mr. Slack, 
having thus done all he could to secure his fortunes, and 
having no notion of remaining with such company under 
such circumstances. “I can be of service to you, perhaps, 
outside. ” 

“Yer little devil ! ” cried Shadow. “Yer ’ll go, will yer ? 
Yer’ll stay where yer are, or I’ll slit yer neck. There’s 
more nor one kind of use yer could be outside. Yer’ll go 
when I go and yer won’t go a dashed bit before ! ” 

“But I warned you !” cried Mr. Slack, alarmed at the 

prospect. “ It ain’t likely ” 

“Shet yer head, I say! ” ordered the murderer, and 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT. 


287 

Mr. Slack complied. “And now, lawy er, ” Shadow con- 
tinued, “if we must act quick, and it ain’t skip, what’s the 
game ? ” 

“111 tell you the plan I have,” rejoined the lawyer 
quietly but rapidly. “But first, follow me upstairs and 
111 show you a little place I’ve prepared for just some 
such a fix as this. Then you can catch my meaning 
better. ” 

“To Hell with goin’ upstairs ! ” snarled the murderer. 
“Well be caught like rats in a trap.” 

The lawyer paid no heed to this strong demurrer, but 
bidding the two men follow him he led the way up the 
dark stairs. Arrived in the bedroom, he unlocked his 
secret closet and guiding them both into it, closed the 
door and lighted the candle. 

“Now,” he said, “for the plan. There isn’t a safer 
spot in the house than this. You see that trap over your 
head ? A man can stand on those handles, throw back 
those bolts, and climb into the attic overhead. Just to 
the right of the trap, he will find the skylight. Opening 
this he will stand upon the roof of the house. From the 
roof to the ground is a fire-escape which I had put there 
for the very purpose. Descending by this he will stand 
in my back-yard, and then he has the choice of several 
ways to the open street. Now, I propose that you two 
shall remain quiet and hidden in this closet. I shall 
disguise myself in the old rags which are in that drawer, 
light the gas in the hall and below stairs as usual, send 
Molly up to her room, and tell them, if they come, that 
she’s getting ready to go out with me. I’ll masquerade as 
her beau and, if possible, learn their business and get at 
how much they know. They of course will not be in the 
least suspicious of my personality, inasmuch as they will 
be certain that Lawyer Hardangle can have no intimation 
of danger. You, Shadow, will be perfectly safe here, and 
when they are gone I will return to you and report devel- 
opments. Till then you will move at the peril of your 
lives. Curse that boot J ” 


288 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


This last exclamation was addressed to one of the arti- 
cles of his incognito which went on with difficulty. For 
as he had been speaking, Mr. Hardangle had unlocked 
the drawer in which his “slum-garments” were kept, and 
worked eagerly at the process of transforming himself into 
Joe Collins. When he had finished the revelation of his 
plan, Shadow exclaimed : 

“ It s a go, lawyer ! Blast the bloody dogs ! ” 

Mr. Slack, feeling called upon to offer some remark, 
observed faintly, while he trembled in every nerve : 

“It’s a go, Mr. Hardangle. Pray recollect and re- 
member that I have been kind.” 

The lawyer’s disguise was soon complete. Concealing 
his legal attire in Joe Collins’s drawer, and cautioning 
Shadow to extinguish the candle if it seemed likely to burn 
out before his return, he put his revolver into his pocket, 
and inquired of the murderer whether he had any weapons 
about him. For an answer Shadow pulled from his 
pocket his evil-bladed clasp-knife. Mr. Slack visibly 
shuddered as the thought of remaining alone in such con- 
fined quarters with the owner of the knife presented 
itself to his startled imagination. No notice, however, 
was taken of him in the press of weightier matters, and 
Mr. Hardangle, placing the key of the closet in the mur- 
derer’s hand, hurried down to his housekeeper, lighting 
the gas on the way. 

Surely that cannot have been a man’s face that peered 
over the banister-railing at him as he did it ! 

“Now, Molly,” said the lawyer, “I’m ready for them 
and am going to make a light. You’ll discover that I 
look like a veritable house-breaker the minute I do, and I 
sha’n’t detain you in such company, my dear (I suppose I 
can say that now). You’ve done your part well and faith- 
fully. It is my present wish that you take another 
candle and retire for the night. Please do so as quickly as 
you can. I do not desire that you should be forced tp 
witness any such unpleasant scenes as may occur.” 
“Mercy!” cried Mrs. Humstone, as the man of law 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT. 


289 

put a match to the gas-jet. “Have mercy on us ! Is 
that really you, Mr. Hardangle ? What is going to hap- 
pen, sir ? ” 

“There, now, Moll,” remonstrated the lawyer. “I 
asked you to make haste.” 

The good widow obeyed with all possible dispatch, 
and in a minute’s time had said good-night and started 
for her room on the third floor, her heart a strange medley 
of the joy of love, the pain of curiosity, and the agitation 
of dread. She said to herself as she locked her bedroom 
door : 

“ These are strange goings-on. I wonder where those 
other fellows are, and what it all means. I didn’t hear 
them go out. ” 

Lawyer Hardangle, in full accord with his nature, was 
in magnificent self-control that night. The hazardous 
ordeal through which he expected to pass caused his 
heart to quicken its action by not a single pulsation. 
Jeremiah Hardangle, in spite of his total moral deprav- 
ity, was a man to challenge and enslave admiration. 
Cool, intrepid, far-sighted and self-reliant, he was made 
of the stuff of which heroes are made ; self-centred and 
conscious of power, he was a born leader of men. As he 
sat there calmly awaiting the trying exigency before him, 
there was something almost sublime in his display of per- 
sonal power and self-mastery. His housekeeper had 
been locked in her room not more than five or ten 
minutes, when he heard the sound of climbing feet upon the 
stone steps leading to the front door, and a sturdy pull at 
the bell immediately followed. With the utmost delibera- 
tion he rose and opened the basement-door. 

“ Hey, you up there ! ” he called in a deep, rough voice. 
“She’s up in her room a-dressin’. If you want to see the 
lawyer, he’s gone out.” 

It was detective Sargeant and his colleague. 

“Gone out, has he?” repeated the former. “Come 
down, Bullfinch, and we’ll talk to this fellow a little. 
•JVho are you, any w ay, if J rnay inquire without offence ” 
19 


290 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


“ No offence, gents, I’m sure,” replied the lawyer in the 
same disguised voice. “I ain’t one of them sort as gets 
easy ruffled. My name’s Joe Collins, and I’m forty-eight 
years old gone Christmas.” 

By this time the detectives had entered and were regard- 
ing the bushy-whiskered Mr. Collins with searching eyes. 

“ Might I ask further what brings you here? ” contin- 
ued Mr. Sargeant. “ You’re so good-natured.” 

“ I won’t say how long my good-nature might last,” re- 
turned the man of law. “There is such a thing as bein’ too 
curious after other folks’ biz. But I don’t mind a-sayin’ 
that I’m here a-sparkin’ of the lawyer’s housekeeper, and 
that she’s gone upstairs to dress, as we’re goin’ for a 
airin’. You’re the second fellers as has come here since 
he went out. I’m glad Moll (that’s her name, gents) 
wasn’t here alone to do the handsome for the first one. 
He was a tearer, gents, a holy smoker ! ” 

At this juncture detective Sargeant stole a sly, knowing 
wink upon detective Bullfinch, as one who would say : 
“ Here’s a greeny giving away useful information gratis. 
We know who he was.” 

‘ ‘ A tough customer, was he, pop ? ” he observed. ‘ ‘ Tall, 
wasn’t he ? ” 

“Tall ? What made you think so ? ” returned the law- 
yer. 

“Oh, I had an idea he was. I’m a pretty good guesser, 
you see.” 

“No, I don’t see no such thing,” retorted the man of 
law. “This here chap wasn’t particular tough, and he 
was most particular small. You took a wrong meaning 
out of my words, gents. All I meant was a little funnin*. 
He gabbed away so like a crazy poll-parrot, that I was 
afeared he’d talk the woman blind and deaf. He said his 
name was Mr. Silas Slack : them was his exact words. ” 

“ I suppose he was like most gas-bags,” remarked Mr. 
Sargeant, looking somewhat crestfallen, “all wind and 
chaff.” 

f< Mostly, gents, He seemed a good deal in, and he 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT 


291 


allowed he was hopin' to find the lawyer out, because he 
was minded to give my Moll a good dressin’ down for 
havin’ got better into Mr. Hardangle’s favor than he, par- 
ticular as he’d been in his office all his days. Them was 
his words, gents. Say, gents, let me have a look at your 
shoes. Well, now, I allowed as you had a knowin’, 
bossy way with you, and them thick soles jest gives it 
all away. I say : are you fellers flatties ? ” 

Detective Sargeant was about to reply when, without 
the slightest warning, the door into the lower hall opened, 
and to the lawyer’s appalling amazement a man’s voice 
shouted : 

“That’s the lawyer, Sargeant! He’s gaming you! I 
got in without any trouble and I’ve heard the whole thing ! 
Shadow and Slack are in his bedroom Round the table 
there, Bullfinch ! I’ll stop his way upstairs ! ” 

So far from being paralyzed, or petrified into abject help- 
lessness by this frightful apparition, Lawyer Hardangle 
grasped the whole situation at a glance. Quick as thought 
he seized his revolver and fired full into the face of the 
new-comer. The bullet merely grazed the man’s cheek ; 
but, in the confusion that followed, the lawyer sprang 
towards the door. Throwing the detective to the floor by 
the desperation of his onslaught and the sheer weight of 
his powerful frame, he was at the top of the stairs before 
any of the three men had sufficiently recovered them- 
selves to give chase. On into his bedroom he dashed, 
slipping both bolts into place behind him. 

“The door, Shadow ! ” he cried. “ Open the door, for 
God’s sake ! The game is up ! There was a flatty con- 
cealed in the house ! Up through the trap for your life ! ” 
The door was opened before tl>e words were half out 
of the lawyer’s mouth, and by the time he had ceased 
speaking, the murderer, with a muttered curse, had thrown 
back the bolts in the ceiling and was lifting himself to the 
floor above. Bang, bang, bang ! The detectives were 
Licking down the door. 

“ Hurry in the name of the devil ! ” shouted the lawyer, 


292 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


But the desperate villain was already pushing up the 
skylight and making his escape to the roof. Bang, bang, 
bang — crash ! The door had yielded to the officers’ kicks 
and the impact of their shoulders hurled against it. The 
lawyer bolted the closet-door and sprang for the trap. 
He thought of his cash-box, but dared not take time to 
secure it. Mr. Slack was nowhere to be seen. In a 
twinkling the partners in blood stood together upon the 
flat roof. 

“Where’s the escape ? ” asked Shadow. 

“ This way — in the middle of the rear ! Be careful ! ” 

The burly felon sprang towards the edge of the roof, 
and peered down into the darkness below. 

‘ ‘ Curse this dark ! ” he growled. ‘ ‘ What’s that ? There’s 
some one creepin’ around at the foot ! ” 

“By God!” exclaimed the lawyer. “The sneak has 
heard that too ! They’re banging away at the closet-door, 
and calling on us to give ourselves up ! What’s to be 
done ? ” 

“Try a shot at him below ! ” hissed Shadow. “ Quick ! 
They’re murderin’ the door to splinters ! ” 

The lawyer leaned over the roof and fired at a dim 
object in the darkness below. The lead blunted itself on 
the pavement. 

“What’s that?” cried a voice from a second-story 
window of the house on the right. 

“It’s murder !” yelled the lawyer. “Put your head 
back or you’ll get one, too ! ” 

“ Fire ! Murder ! ” screamed a woman from the house 
on the left. 

“Damn it! there’s two more fellows come round from 
the sidewalk ! ” muttered the lawyer, still peering down 
into the dark. “The whole neighborhood will be aroused, 
and then we’re cornered ! I say, man, what’s to be done ? ” 

“ Slam away at that flat again ! ” mouthed Shadow. 

“ I can’t. He’s under cover of the escape. God ! there 
goes the door ! I tell you we haven’t a second to iQse 1 
What's, to be done ? ” 


MR. SARGEANT ON THE SCENT. 


2 93 

“Curse yer ! ” hissed the murderer, “ that’s what’s to be 
done fur yer ! ” 

Shadow gave the lawyer an infuriated push as he spoke, 
and with a fearful oath sent him headlong into the yard 
below. The crushed and bloody corpse had not ceased 
to quiver on its stony bed, when the hunted murderer, 
knowing that all escape was hopeless, drew his case- 
knife, severed his jugular vein, cut a deep slash across 
both wrists, and hurled the streaming knife into the street. 
In another instant the two detectives cautiously pushed 
open the skylight and demanded the surrender of the 
lawyer and his confederate. 

“He’s surrendered, yer cursed hounds!” rejoined 
Shadow. “And if yer wants to ketch me, yer better 
not be so skeered of yer blasted lives. Come on, I say ! ” 

The detectives did so, and Mr. Sargeant was approach- 
ing to handcuff his prisoner, when his foot slipped on 
the tin roof. 

‘ ‘ What’s that ? ” he cried. 

“ It’s blood, yer hell-dog ! ” replied the murderer. 

“Where is he ? Did you kill him ? ” 

“Yes, I did him, and served him right fur getting me 
into this muss. We’ll die even. But that ain’t his juice, 
yer fool. That’s mine. I shoved him over the edge.” 

“We must stop this bleeding, Bullfinch. He’ll cheat 
the gallows at this rate.” 

“No, yer won’t stop this bleedin’ ! It can’t be done. 
I’ve made a good job of it, yer sneaks. If yer try monkey- 
in’ with me I’ll only slam -around and croak the sooner. 
Oh, yer don’t git no wictims to-night out of this racket.” 

The sickening quantity of blood which was streaming 
on the roof convinced the officers of the truth of the man’s 
words. They therefore called down to their coadjutor to 
learn where the lawyer had fallen and if he were already 
dead, and then devoted themselves to extracting from the 
dying murderer information concerning Reginald More- 
land’s disappearance, which none other than he could now 
furnish, 


294 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


“Tell yer that ? ” said Shadow. “ Since yer warn’t keen 
enough to find it out yourselves, I will. That Hardangle 
devil was after the t’other one’s cash, so he forges a will. 
That little Slack fool can tell yer about that. Well, he 
finds out somehow about Bags an’ me, and one night, nigh 
onto The Pocket, he ketches us alone, and we makes it up 
fur five hundred a head, to get into our cops’ duds and 
ride the t’other one out in our boat and sink him. The 
lawyer, he war to get the Moreland one down into Water 
Street on some hoax or other, and Bags and me war to 
come acrost them and pass off fur cops and steer him into 
our den in South Street and tie him up there and put a 
stopper in his mug, and then slip him into our boat. And 
that’s what we done. The poor sucker grabbed Bags as 
we war flingin’ him over and they were done together. 
Ugh ! the runnin’ of that water haunts me now ! ” 

“And that was all?” inquired detective Sargeant. 

“That war the hull. Curse me, but I feel queer and 
shaky ! Except that afore he went over he allowed that 
there war somethin’ weighty in the lookin’-glass in his bed- 
room.” 

“What!” cried both detectives at once. “Say that 
again ! ” 

“ I’ve done it wunst and that’s enough. I tell yer I 
feel hellish played. I’ll lay back. Damn me ! If I 
hadn’t got into that blasted job, I wouldn’t have been 
brung to this. Curse that water, it haunts me ! I kin 
feel it runnin’ with my blood ! ” 

Silence fell over the tragic scene as the murderer’s life 
slowly ebbed away. He said not another word till the 
end was upon him. Then he weakly muttered : 

“ Curse that water l It's drownin’ me!” 


JOE MORELAND. 


2 95 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

JOE MORELAND. 

The night after the appalling events narrated in the last 
chapter had taken place, Florence Moreland was sitting 
in her library deeply absorbed in thought. Her face was 
pale, and its anxious, tired look revealed all too plainly the 
days and nights of harrowing grief and bitterness which 
it had been her lot to endure. In addition to the weight 
of woes already pressing upon her heart, the events of the 
preceding night which she had learned an hour after their 
occurrence afforded fresh food for painfullest reflection. 
Mr. Slack had been dragged from his hiding-place under 
the lawyer’s bed (whither he had darted the moment 
Shadow had opened the closet-door for his pursued con- 
federate) and immediately escorted to the Moreland home 
by detective Sargeant. Here, with long-drawn words and 
swelling self-importance he had imparted his entire 
knowledge respecting the actors in this sorrowful tragedy ; 
thus, with the help of the officer’s account of Shadow’s 
dying confession, clearing up the whole mystery, disclos- 
ing Lawyer Hardangle’s cruel perfidy and Rachel Under- 
wood’s falsification concerning both the sex and the fate 
of her offspring. The weighty “something” of which 
Shadow had told with his fleeting breath, had been dis- 
covered in its strange hiding-place and proved to be noth- 
ing less than Reginald Moreland’s last will and testament 
revoking all other documents. It was in Mr. Moreland’s 
own handwriting. It bore a date only two days later 
than the forged will, and had been witnessed by the same 
individuals, who undoubtedly had been pledged to secrecy 
regarding its existence. Procrastination and the un- 
expected character of his death must have thwarted the 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


296 

testator’s purpose of sharing his secret with other parties 
after the death of the witnesses. The forged document 
had evidently been reproduced from a prior true testament, 
afterwards destroyed by the lawyer, inasmuch as the final 
document was for the most part identical with it. This 
prior testament not improbably had been drawn, among 
other purposes, that the testator might utilize it as a 
legal model in his own work. The whole affair was the 
outcome of a strange whim on the part of a man remark- 
able for his peculiarities. 

The will set forth that the testator had learned from 
Rachel Underwood the true state of the case between 
her and his son, and ordered that the interest of $25,000 
should yearly be paid to her child should such child live. 
Should no living child be born, or at the expiration of the 
term of its natural life, the principal was devoted to the 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Jere- 
miah Hardangle received $5,000. As no one would be 
wronged by so doing, it had been decided to hush the 
whole matter of the forgery, and obtain the sum which 
the lawyer had fraudulently secured only if it could 
be done quietly. After Mr. Sargeant and his little 
charge had gone, Florence had announced her unalterable 
decision to rear the child with her own, and it was the 
thought that her husband might at any moment return 
with Joe boy after a day spent in investigating the law- 
yer’s affairs and in a visit to the morgue to look upon his 
father’s murderer, that now aroused her from her profound 
abstraction. She raised her head and called to her little 
boy. 

“Rex, my dear,” she said, “come here a little while. 

I want to talk to you. I think papa may bring you a 
brother to-night. Will you love him and let him play 
with your things ? ” 

“He’ll be too little and cryey to play with my toys, 
mamma.” 

“No, love, he will be older than you. He isn’t a little 
boy any more.” 


JOE MORELAND. 297 

“Isn’t that funny ! Where will papa get him from — 
From Dr. Bedlow’s ? ” 

“ No, Rex ; he’s been living with some other people that 
you don’t know, but now he’s going to live with you.” 

“Why hasn’t he been with me sooner ? Oh, won’t it 
be jolly to have him here to play horse and all sorts of 
games with ! Why didn’t he be here before, mamma ? 
Is he my real brother for good and all ? ” 

“Yes, darling, you will call him brother Joe. It’s been 
best for him to live somewhere else until now. Rose 
knows him.” 

“She does ? ” 

“ Yes ; and you do, too.” 

“ Why, mamma ! ” 

“Think, now : did you ever hear Rose talk about a 
little boy called Joe boy ?.” 

“ Oh, mamma, not Joe boy — not that poor boy ! ” 

“Yes, Rex, Rose’s Joe boy.” 

“Then how can he be my brother ? ” 

“By papa and mamma taking him for their little boy. 
And you will love each other and have such good times 
There, dear, you can go and play now.” 

Little Rex had again been absorbed in his game, and 
his mother in her thoughts, for about ten minutes, when 
Robert Moreland, looking no less pale and wearied than 
his wife, entered the house with Joe boy. 

“Well, my boy,” said Florence with a strange, mingled 
emotion seizing her heart, which she could by no means 
have dissected or interpreted, “ you are very welcome to 
your new home. This is my little boy, Rex, who is to be 
your brother — your Miss Rose’s nephew. You’ll love each 
other and have such a good time. Don’t you think you’ll 
like it here ? ” 

“ f guess I will, ma’am, ” returned Joe boy somewhat 
shyly, owing to the magnificence of his surroundings, and 
regarding Rex with that peculiar expression which two 
strange children always bestow upon each other, “I guess 
I will, ma’am. But I liked mamma Sidgwick, and she 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


298 

cried to have me come. I wonder if my mammy felt this, 
too.” 

“Did your good old mammy used to feel the good things 
that came to you ? ” asked Florence, who knew to whom 
the boy referred from Mr. Slack’s description. 

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Joe. “She felt it just before 
I went to Mr. Maitland’s school, and she felt that I was 
to be a fine, good man. I guess I’m going to be now. 
Does Miss Rose ever come here ? ” 

“Yes, dear, she comes here very often.” 

“ And will I see her if she does ? ” 

“Yes, you and Rex and she can all have a good time 
together — I hope. And now you and Rex play in the 
corner while your new papa and mamma talk a little.” 

After the little fellows had made friends and were busily 
engaged in their play, Florence and Robert, for the last 
time that we shall see them, took their accustomed even- 
ing chairs. 

“Oh, Florence, Florence!” groaned Robert, “it is 
awful ! To see you kiss that child and hear you talk to 
him so, bows me to the dust. Oh, my wife, my wife ! ” 

“You must overcome that feeling, Robert. Let us not 
talk about it. Did you attend the lawyer’s funeral ? ” 

“Yes, and it was pitiful ! Not a mourner there unless 
the good housekeeper was an exception, and she had an 
old cat that she declared felt as bad. The woman was 
really much affected, and seems to have been truly at- 
tached to the villain. It was an unspeakably chilling and 
awful occasion. To hear the words of the service pro- 
nounced over the mangled form of that man but yesterday 
undoubted and full of power, made the blood run cold. 
How many times I thought of your unaccountable aver- 
sion to him. Your feeling is easily explicable now. Oh, 
Florence, Florence, these days have been terrible, terrible, 
terrible ! ” 

“ Let us not speak of them, Robert. What did you find 
out about the poor wretch’s property ? Did he leave a 
will?” 


JOE MORELAND. 


2 99 

“Yes, and gave every cent to his housekeeper. There 
are none but distant relatives, and not one of them was 
remembered. He had thousands of dollars locked away 
in that closet which Sargeant told us about last night. 
The woman I found to be honest and well-meaning ; and, 
as she intends among other things to give a round sum to 
Philip’s Hall, bring the former cabman and his wife to live 
with her, and remember all rightful heirs, I concluded not 
to say a word about the forgery. ” 

“Mr. Slack felt that he ought to receive something for 
the knowledge which he imparted last night : did you do 
anything for him ? ” 

“ He deserves nothing so well as imprisonment. But 
neither do I, and I have decided to give him a chance at 
the store, putting him on his good behavior. We should 
of course never have known about the boy without him. 
But what do you think ? It came to me to-day why Rachel 
falsified to me concerning the child. Her account of her 
intended revenge was all false. Otherwise, why should 
she have hidden the child’s continued existence from me ? 

I believe, from what Mr. Sidgwick told me ” 

“Excuse me, dear. I forgot to ask about him. How 
did you get Joe away from him ? ” 

“ I was forced to take him into my confidence. He is a 
good fellow and will keep it quiet. Oh, my wife, my wife, 
how can I talk to you about such things in this business- 
like way ! Why do you not hate me — hate me 1 ” 

“Robert, you must not. See: the children were at- 
tracted by your exclamation. What about Rachel’s 
design ? ” 

“ I was about to say that from what the teacher told 
me, taken in connection with her deception and her secret 
way of sending the child money, I believe Rachel twice 
called at Phil’s office when Rose and Joe were there alone. 
On both of these occasions she spoke of the purpose of the 
lady who was supporting Joe, to make him one day a rich 
man. And, on the former one she hinted to Rose and 
Joe that they might one day be falling in love. Now from 

X 


3 °° 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET 


all this what is my conclusion ? Nothing less than that it 
was Rachel’s scheme one day to marry them if it were 
within her power, both to be revenged on you and that 
she might use the new and tremendous lever which would 
thus be hers in forcing me away from you. ” 

“Robert ! ” 

“I am well convinced that she had no other notion, and 
that her former pretended revelation was gotten up for the 
occasion. Such a course, too, would have laid her open 
to imprisonment. The note that she sent me also proves 
that she had not expected me to expose myself. Oh, my 
wife, she is dead, dead ! and I, it was I who killed her ! ” 
“Hush, my husband. I dare not think of that more. 
God has forgiven you : I will think only of that. You 
have been punished, punished fearfully. May God grant 
that the punishment of further exposure may be spared you. 
Shall you tell Phil, Robert ? ” 

“You mean about the child? Yes, Florence, I shall. 
But we must hide it from the rest of the family if we can ; 
and even then your mother and Madge will be scandal- 
ized at our taking a poor street Arab into our home. 
You told Joe that Rose and Rex and he could play to- 
gether : I’m almost afraid she will be forbidden to come 
here any more. I think you felt the same from the man- 
ner in which you qualified your assertion.” 

“ I had thought of it ; I hope, however, that it will not 
be so bad as that. At any rate we must do our duty. 
Was anything new discovered concerning the buttons ? ” 
“Nothing. The way in which one was lost in the 
office and so came into Slack’s hands ; and how the other 
one was found in Applegate’s cab, can never positively 
be explained. Sargeant’s theory is, in my opinion, the 
correct one. It is not unlikely that, having them in his 
pocket, he should have taken them out to speak to Hard- 
angle about them and his Will, as he never tired of doing. 
Hardangle may have had them in his hands at the time 
of the cab’s arrival, and so it is quite natural that father, 
having risen, should slip them into his pantaloons-pocket. 


fOE MORELAND. 


301 


A hole in this pocket through which one of the buttons 
found its way under the lawyer’s desk and the other one 
into the cab, completes the conjecture, which, you see, is 
substantially the same one he offered last evening. I 
think it satisfactory.” 

“It seems at least natural. Oh, Robert, was it only 
yesterday morning that you took the button to Mr. Sar- 
geant ? It seems so much longer. What a dreadful and 
unexpected punishment your father had in store for you. 
I have been thinking of it to-day, and it seemed almost 
cruel, though very like him, too. Mr. Slack said it was 
your father’s intention to give the promised money to 
Rachel and the child himself as long as he lived, did he 
not?” 

“ I think he did. Yes, it does almost seem cruel, Flor- 
ence, and yet how small would the penalty of sudden ex- 
posure to you and others have been, compared with what 
I deserved. Oh, Florence, my wife, I am wretched, 
wretched, wretched ! My sins overwhelm me ! ” 

For a reply Florence kissed her husband’s brow. Then 
calling to the children, who were the best of friends by 
this time, that she heard the sand-man coming, she bade 
them follow her upstairs. As little Rex told his father 
good-night he whispered into his ear : 

“Papa, do you know, I’ve been looking at brother Joe, 
and really and truly sometimes he makes me think of that 
pretty lady.” 

When the little fellows were snugly tucked into bed, and 
in a fair way of a cozy night’s sleep, Florence returned 
to her place at her husband’s side. 

“Robert,” she said, “ It has been terrible. It will be 
long before the memory of these days will have been 
sufficiently softened by time to allow either of us to even 
think upon them calmly. In some respects our love can 
never be just what I once thought it was. There must 
ever be a cruel scar where the fierce blow fell. And yet, 
and yet, my husband, if it has felt the wounds of the bat- 
tle, thank God it is also battle-tried. My Robert, my own, 


3° 2 


WHERE THE TIDES MEET. 


love is self-realization, and I love you with a deep and 
holy love. There is the bell.” 

It was Philip Maitland. He had heard of Mr. Hard- 
angle’s tragic end, but of all the strange circumstances 
connected therewith, he was quite ignorant. After Robert, 
with great agitation, had told him, he immediately arose. 

“ I cannot force myself upon you at such a time,” he 
said with trembling voice. “ It is too sacred. Let me 
quote to you four well-known lines and I will go. 

“ O, yet we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill, 

To pangs of nature, sins of will, 

Defects of doubt and taints of blood.” 

So saying Philip Maitland took his departure, and as he 
went the benediction which always followed his presence, 
rested upon his loved ones. 


THE END. 



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